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The Way Back
by Avik Chanda
I did not get drunk like Bacchus
and swear to you: the heavens
will be your wedding gift.
I left by sea. Morning mirrored
your lonely sky at the horizon,
the patchwork of brief love –
our aftermoans – printing its calligraphy
in the air, along the shore.
By then, I was away at sea,
having left everything behind.
You. The labyrinth. A ball of thread.
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Missile
Stamp by Jeremiah Stansbury
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