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She wears sackcloth like
ashes and kneels
by the river, lets her stones
slip one by one into the rippled sky.
Her hair dark and indistinguished
against night branches,
her fingers become twigs.
There is a shadow
she keeps under her tongue.
And only the dawn-sparrow
knows.
Written to ~fm-vorassi's prompt, "sackcloth and ashes," in [link]

Uploaded as a deviation for =wonderfulrachel
:iconltcommanderdata:
LtCommanderData Featured By Owner Feb 5, 2009  Hobbyist Photographer
Very well done... I love the enjambed lines! They really work with this poem!
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:iconthebellman:
thebellman Featured By Owner Feb 3, 2009   Writer
interesting
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:iconwonderfulrachel:
wonderfulrachel Featured By Owner Feb 3, 2009
oh, you are wonderful.
-faves-
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February 3, 2009
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