The world is heavy with responsibility like sodden bags of refuse
too heavy for an old woman to carry to the curb, weighted
as they are with un-potentials and broken keepsakes
ceramic figurines of once-children so gifted who now quietly
type at their keyboards and earn a living.
I see this world and raise it this strangeness that stands resolute
at and among the darkness in corners; seeks it out and confronts it,
with broad and bell-clear brays of laughter, warmly stoic,
quiet after the keyboard with knees in the earth and hands
busy but gentle, softly tending green.
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