A hand cut among the leaves.
Hair in the eye blocking the sun.
In the gray of the white aluminum
crease, old rain like cold, colorless
blood. The stink of many seasons.
The cut hand scoops the sludge.
The one-note chip of a chipping
sparrow hopping along the fence.
Sneakered feet on a squeaky rung
over the car moans coming from
the other side of the home.
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