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She’s been cast-away with the fairies. 
Set adrift with balloons tied to her toes.
A plastered cast of temperance adorns her, 
Holding fast the metronome
That beats her heart’s fading castanet.

We watch her from afar, 
Curtly flung so high, a helpless, whirl of a girl, 
As though no more than a dandelion seed.
An offering to the four winds.
Miscast.
At last.

Lost. 

She’s flotsam now. 
Bleached, tumbled, and forgotten. 
Her eyes are sea glass. 
Wings of living gauze lie mouldering and flattened, slick down her back.
She’s waiting for the end of days, to behold the recalcitrant stars again.
To glide along the currents, falling skywards up the slip stream.
Hoping to find some comfort, 
A kind sanctuary from the incessant coldness that now pervades. 

So slip, 
One.
Knit,
One.
Pearl, 
One.

Cast off. 

Cast Away. 

She’s been cast-away with the fairies.
Set adrift.
With balloons tied to her toes.

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