She arrives wrapped
in red petals of an opioid, bottled
blankets.

Chickadee voices
land on the deck beside
her rocker, puddle

like the tick of Dali
clocks. There’s little time.
Riding the canoe, lamp-

shade turtles break
the surface, her fingers
surprised by sedated beaks.

She leaves our cabin
through a grove of splintered
oak, whispers —

It’s beautiful
as acorns split
to leaf.

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