dark chocolate—
Gypsies on the river.
Lamb bones
and candle wicks.
The young ones turn—
A whisper.
Olives rot—
no teeth to bite.
Weathering
in empty jars of saffron.
Market chimes
and tamarisk
Child come,
Let me read your palm.
Imagination is
paying attention—
lead belly freckles
aside.
For on mint
they lay like spoons, what on parsley,
lay like knives.
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