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Letting the Body Decide

                                    Kerri French

She turns as I sleep, arms
trembling in colors blue and wide,

bones that drift beneath stars, snow.
Consider the dream: a river

mapped from one leg to the next.
Consider the mouth: fields frozen

beyond the window of a train.
I call her Juniper. I call for help.

The weather pushes against us.
Ice climbs through branches

and streets no longer wake.
A cathedral remains standing.

Consider her born. Consider
each river a name. Consider

the mornings I walked the path
alone. My body, her captor—

and somewhere, the fog rising,
the ground refusing to let us go.

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