Sirena
Cooper Esteban

I saw
the beak of the pulpo
soften, its shears ripple like fronds
of kelp drawing
the bluefish in:
all those
drops of water
like paramecia
splitting endlessly:
the leaded
air walking through
her down, not
copper, not obsidian,

but still sharp enough to sever
whatever her
cilia brings to her.

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