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Ely Shipley Beach sand and ocean blossom at high tide. We claw the cliff toward our hotel drunk. We tear off clothes. Our skin soaked with night. Squares of light from windows frame face, thigh, elbow. Stars seep in. Still as sun dial, the room shadows around me. My eyes close. A bud retracts color.… More

Shadows of birds in sun spots

Ely Shipley a movie unfolding from my ceiling, silent except the soundtrack a chirp. Black and white except the giant yellow blossom where the ceiling bleeds during storms. A kind of corsage a god brings. It hovers. A lamp, perched bird, eye of moon keeping watch. We undress beneath warm breath we blow against each… More

Shortly after dying

Ely Shipley I wanted to come back but the world didn’t want me. Your face was a blank bullet that still terrifies a blanket that hides a face erased page sheet we might have slept beneath without touching. Before I died, I cradled an infant. I sang it lull-a-byes. Aren’t all songs? But it kept… More