Beneath the flat rock, a nest
Of dust
Bugs,
Hairs,
Small rocks.
My hair and your hands, moving
almost in time. Hair flows like
daylight through a crack in the wall.
And your hands are—-angrily
Hands do not flow but they try to.
They want to gracefully maneuver
Through heaviness, but are heavy
Themselves. Hardened hearts
Flicker like small lights in a child’s
toy spaceship, that navigates the
Depthless skies alone.
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