9. He was a boy once
He stands, his fingers graze the table
His fingers spread
like a rake
His nose, longer
when he’s under stress
As when he says “Fear gets us nowhere”
an obvious untruth, since here we are
His hat is made of bread
The bottle breaks—a collection of cells.
Just across the river, the trees turning green.
she will meet a trusted person.
skips a generation.
And then how sad—to see a photo like that?
He’d waited all day to do
what he came to do.
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