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Adrift in sea-state

on the cusp

of a masala chip floating

around the chaffing lip of sands


a Shipping Forecast is sailing

in and out of black

herringbone hair—

tendrils kelping at the ears

that whisper like shells

telling tales

of in-between places

I have yet to swim.


Cromarty glides

into aarthi, ahgni, Kali

then slips

into Homity pie

as we lie

ebbing and frothing

in the dribble

of a genie in a broadcast,


half asleep

half awake

half fish.


*First published in Lighthouse Journal, April 2022

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