by Cody Smith

Above stick feet

I think about The Little Dipper’s

          Napoleon Complex

and how I wish you

and I could live

          in a rowboat

unmindful of drifting oars

or the wave-tossed stars tapping

           against our hull

waking us seasick

our skin eroding

          against the salted boards

but I worry how some still burn

the Dead with pyres

          throwing widows

onto their empty husbands

what will befall you

          during my undertaking?

an iceberg recedes into its tomb

will the sea accept my flesh

          or send me back hollow?

but there’s no need

for headstone epitaphs

          instead look up

you’ll see mine written

in the top-heavy night

          breathing slowly

Deyaa Mounir

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