morning, yes, morning before the afternoon
damp spring sweater wool winter smell
thick and loose and shifting and falling
she
leaned on the creak of wood and iron
legs dig deeper, rust disturbed
For 25 cents each
the lines of her hand
crafted in Hungary
lost in the attic
the first warm day
of this very last decade
Hands of Fatima
in Star of David
bought and stowed
in my back pocket
its the clocks i like
to keep track of the passing time
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