alfie lee writing



to rig my sail from fore
to aft,
tack against this dogged wind,
this craft.

before me i shall make the Nile,
for north,
the Red Sea, slip, wash and guile,
the wrath

like this is never
spoken of,
what was before and is to come be
broken off

these days, of loss, scribed in spit
of stars,
where lights peak only to utter


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