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Devil’s Pool
body
poppyromanov
        Wissahickon Creek, Philadelphia

In the middle of my life,
a rift:

gap of still water. Schist cool
against my back, and my body
burning.

In the middle of my life,
a clearing:

mica-flecked ache. A ledge
to jump off

Longing’s metamorphic, too a
deep fault,
geologic.

All I want is something
to plunge me into the cold
current.

Someone to pull me
out, lichen-slick, sputtering.