Rising by Dawn Felagund

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Rising


In her girlhood: up the ascent to Meneltarma was a
Challenge. Now, it is treachery: slick wet sharp rocks
Made slicker wetter sharper by blood on her
Hands. In her girlhood: Númenor was an
Island. Now it is a hillock.
The sea gathers; she leaps
For a handhold. Misses.
Leaps. Misses. Faces
The sea
Poised


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