It hangs deep in his robes, a delicate clapper at the center of a bell. It moves when he moves, a ghostly fish in a halo of silver sweaweed, the hair swaying in the dark and the heat -- and at night while his eyes sleep, it stands up in praise of God. Anonymous submission.
Added: 21 Jul 2002 | Last Read: 22 May 2013 12:00 PM | Viewed: 36061 times
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