Clarice Hare

ghosted

I stumble through 
luminescences of rain:

awake at dawn, sweetened 
with salt, 

palms crusted like 
my knees, 

whiter than white. when 
river redgum roots snake 

and tickle my 
unsandaled toes, I gasp 

apologies and soak the sludge 
with my own blood. 

moth-haunted and fly-
haloed like some pale 

swamp-goddess of 
degenerate creation, 

I spit dew from my 
rosebud mouth and curse 

them more for taking the canoe
than what they 

(falsely) 

thought was my
virginity.