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The
Lovers
First
he gives you his heart.
You slice open the fruit,
count the seeds. Bitter
to the tongue, planted
in foreign soil, they will not grow.
You will remember the sweet taste
on your lips, even as it burns
your throat into silence. |
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Queen
of Swords
Night shimmers in the reflection
of your knife, a woman alone
in a grove of dying
silver firs. Her palms
full of wind, she tries to swallow
the song falling off the lips
of her grandmother. But the dead
only whisper, “Come home. |
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The
Star
Your calloused hands cradle
steaming bread, not for your lips.
One foot slips into backward waters;
the other is held by a child
who eats moist crumbs. Starlight splashes
into her empty eyes as you leave her behind
to swim. Click of a lock, you arrive,
place the bread in a broken cradle. |
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The
Emperor
He shatters silence with a fist
dripping honey. From open palms
fall crushed bees, a Queen,
her children. Your mother kisses
apologies off his lips, buries them
behind the barn. Later, you will run
from the man carrying a honeycomb,
while your child kicks inside. |
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Page
of Clubs
Red light slips from slit of sky and sea.
Your shadow stretches, slides
across an oak, breaks a branch
to strike against the surface of the moon.
Blurring your edges, she lifts the veil
from your eyes, your lips; arouses
your voice. Pointing her torch,
she reveals blood letters in the sand. |
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The
Devil
A crow cries your father’s name,
omens joining like chains
around your ankles. Asleep
under a wagon, you see flames,
finger bones, a wedding band.
With the dawn, you follow the sun
to see corpses. Thirsty, you find the well
filled with ashes, angry ghosts. |
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Seven
of Cups:
You plant the seed on a grave,
water it with time. Grown, seven branches
will stretch back, bear tiny red berries
on golden leaves rounded with rust.
You eat the fruit, bitter to the tongue.
Ghosts gather, trace patterns in the grass,
settle into your palms
as you harvest tears for winter. |
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The Falling Tower
The path ends before the tallest oak.
You grab hold of roots as the ground rumbles,
breaks away, crumbles into the river below.
Bleeding fingers, scraped palms, you climb
up toward the top where the moon
bathes you raw. Beneath you, a body
floats beside broken trees
in the rapids rushing away. |
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Sun
Sharp tails of midnight dreams
poke you under straw, steer you
to the garden bright
with sunflowers. You curl
around tomatoes, potatoes, beets.
Grasses kiss your cheek, your neck; whisper
your name. You knead the moist soil, listen
to the lullaby beneath the roots. |
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Ten
of Coins
Darkness strokes your skin, crushes you
against the curve of an ancient cave.
Led by light you find the center,
steal into the circle, dance
with your sister. Together
you trace paintings on the walls,
break bread brushed with cinnamon,
search the soil for stones, begin to build. |
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