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title
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Baskin Cooper


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The Naming

she calls me zahrukar
a name that sounds like ash
the syllables pull the air tight
like a knot around my throat

smoke clings to her hair
a low ember scent
her robes the color of spilled wine
eyes a green colder than rain

I answer before I can think
she nods once
as if I have claimed this name
the night bends closer

from a small iron box
she lifts a dark stone
its weight finds my palm
I can't recall my other name