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Chant by Dr. William F. Lantry
published in Volume 3, Issue 1 on February 8th, 1996

    "give him the darkest inch your shelf allows... "
                        --Robinson, on Crabbe

 There's something in the half-forgotten words
 she spoke tonight that lingers flickering
 like candles on an altar with these prayers
 abandoned to a broken window's wind;
 there's something in this ritual that sings
 of waves and broken wood.  This evening

 when souls are said to walk unbodied, I
 again find incantations on my shelf
 inadequate, like these few words, and hear
 her lingered voice repeating what the nights
 compile in their darknesses of sound,
 those silken rushed confluences of hers

 shipwrecked or saved or saving-- take the waves
 as echoes of her voice continuing
 and I, in this torn robe incanting on
 this undetermined vision of return,
 as if this very repetition of
 her rhythms could reconjure her to me.

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