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Poetry

In creased coat, body
beggar-curled, colored not the sky blue of Christ’s
robe on the mount, nor his mother’s
in the manger before she was haloed forever, but a bruising
blue, indigo as blood
trapped beneath flesh. What the drowned
last see, sunk past light’s reach.

 

 

 

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The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

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