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In case of my death, an elegy
Margi Abraham
When my ashes hit the harbour
and I belong think of a moment
when a September sun
traces yellow lines
on darkened blue.
My dust will float on like motes
in the deceptive air
and irritate oysters
slow sinking in the tide.
Waves will lap against sandstone
dissolving the city vapour will rise
a train will measure the bridge
and a ferry take you home.
ISSN: 1449 - 0471
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