Outside the mill
where the plague claimed the miller,
Carp lie, wide-eyed and still under the ice,
while we breathe blooms into starlit air.
Blue moonlight paints bulrush shadows
onto the lake’s surface,
and we gasp as
the lanterns bob skyward –
follow each other
out, into the inky deep.
Hope-glow fades to a wink in
the not-knowingness of the night
and, rooted to the earth,
I thread arms with my sisters.
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