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(Silkie)
She flames like a window at evening
her hair the color of late sunset
so low and molten it drips into the water.I shake myself hard
and follow the coldest current
until I see the mackerel
running for open water,stomachs fat with the heat they’ve eaten,
gills streaming light like notched lanterns.I pound my tail. I catch one
and another, another, another.
I tear into their bodies
until I cramp with belly fire
the color of her hair.
