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My knife is a thin curved mirror
in which I can see my mother’s eyes.

Peace be with me.

I walk in the ways of whispers
a thousand grandmothers bleed.

Peace be with me.

I never pray except that I prey;
the silence of the Lord laughs all around.

Peace be with me.

The silver arcs of streetlights
are poised like surgeons’ needles.

Peace be with me.

I go lightfoot, leadfoot
into the land of permanent midnight.

Peace be with me.

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