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to Alejandra Pizarnik
by Diane Dehler

I touched a toe of
Alejandra's dream
coaxed her back from
suicide. With a hard
boot she cracks the ice
crusted over a puddle
by her grave. Tosses
a faded rose from her
sight, a falling away
of dried petals and
years, a permanent
exile of a poet.

She remembers words
that stirred her. Love
affairs that perished
before they ended.
A lover that tousled
her hair with dark curls
of his own roiling into
abyss of far away the
poems unlived.

A seance of lost poems,
a shroud for the verse.
By ritual and spell
we conjure you, for all
poets live in a burning
lake of fire. Those that
die too young are given to
words. The fractured self
clouded new of your
reincarnation, Alejandra,
is as compelling as poetry,
your death denied.


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