For Dinabandhu and Ila

This morning
the red trees
in the cemetery,
now watching three women skip
stones across the lake,
as if we are water,
imagine the ripples
from these tiny acts,
lifting an arm or a leg
and placing it somewhere
new.

What could you let skim
the surface, and what
would you allow
to travel
your entire length
down,
as you invite the breath
to necklace
the spine, what treasures
waiting
in the jewel box
of body,
what ecstatic message
tucked in the bottle
of mind,
now still,
simply
arriving.

–Carly Sachs

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