Tehreem Ali

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Our shoreline speaks of night; we can’t hear it but we can see its mouth move.

I am at the ready for god, but let’s be honest.

I gloss over the jetty, watch a seaflower hold its breath between the rock;

I hold my breath to move between the veil.

Miracles, we sing.

Death only happens to the living;            even the quietest corners

pale away. We grope at rooms of mirrors, through tufts of flora,

for t