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Water-witches follow the sea’s rough path,
cross to the wave’s door, ride the brackish mare

tide-ways home. I loved a witch. In my bath
she would let me wash her back, braid her hair,

count each scar. I think of her on the shore,
calling the drowned to come home. Souls like fish

swallowed up. I can’t find the witch’s door,
just snow upon waves; moths that vanish

as she did. My sister, I must make friends
with the waves, as you did. You returned

to me riding their backs like a blue flame
until the drowned called for you. Who pretends

they can sing up storms? I can’t. Lost and burned
I’m a child in the fog, calling your name.