They say she left the home of God a cataclysm of wild hair and one syllable words
They say she leapt the salt spray of rolling swells and alighted in a mess on her pillow
They say she paid eight turtles and a conch shell for a fist full of sand
They say she went into the dark and told it to fly through her plaited braids
They say time slips through her hour glass figure and accumulates on her stone tile floor
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