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(for Cerys Lewis)

. . . but some books float, Prospero,
and not all words bleed black into the waves.
Let these pages be tide-turned now,
polyp-bound and clasped with kelp;
spells brine-read until philosophy wears a carapace,
magi swim, and squid-inked runes are cast.
All deeps invert; tides at last divorce the moon
and gulls race risen ships upon a self-willed swell
to give the land one last embrace.




Mat Joiner lives near Birmingham, England, where they absorb tea and second-hand books, watch foxes, and admire crumbling buildings. Their stories and poems have appeared in Not One Of UsLackingtons, Goblin Fruit, and Stone Telling. You can find them on Twitter as @damsonfox
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18 Nov 2024

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Somehow we’re now Harold Lloyd/Jackie Chan, letting go of the minute hand
It was always a beautiful day on April 22, 1952.
By: Susannah Rand
Podcast read by: Claire McNerney
In this episode of the Strange Horizons Fiction podcast, Michael Ireland presents Little Lila by Susannah Rand, read by Claire McNerney. Subscribe to the Strange Horizons podcast: Spotify
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