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2011-06-02T20:56:57-07:00June 2nd, 2011|Musings on life|

The code of decay

Her mouth trembles
thin lips
moisture collects
in the corners like tears
hair grows on her chin
prickly weeds.

She is old
ninety-two
vulnerable
like a cup
made of dust.

I long to hear her voice
conclusions
funny and wise
but a warbled sound
drips out instead.

This is the last time
I see her
and I will never know
if her effort carried gifts
in the code of decay
or if she had already
vanished.

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