here is the place i go to find you.
to put a simple lake by your feet.
to make amends with the sun
wading in around us.
i call it clemency and i like it just fine.
the locals speak seven tongues of sympathy
and the fountains here weep.
the homes are damn cheap and the sun never
sinks here in clemency.
i've come here with bags full of bones
to find you face down in the lake
where you drowned. to flip you over.
so the sun can move on here in clemency.
The Blooming Bead Trees of New Orleans:
by Kristin Fouquet
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