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Runcible Spoon

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Grain of Sand

 

At least it’s not inhibited by feelings.

Nor does it require some kind of provocation

just to engender a response.

If it has a spirit, then it’s not the kind

that’s in constant doubt.

 

It doesn’t complain about how dead it feels.

Nor does it beg for a sign of life from me.

There’s none of that searching

the depths of the mind malarkey.

Nothing is hidden.

It’s happy to be what it is on the surface.

 

Never terrified. No wailing.

No being overwhelmed by its own emotions.

It never falls into error.

It lacks the habit of trying to make me see clear.

 

It doesn’t worry if it bears no truth, no consequence.

It has the power to be what it is.

It figures that’s enough.

 

Its life is not constant struggle.

It doesn’t feel itself alone in the world.

Nor boxed in my all the grains of sand around it.

It slides into a crack in the palm of my hand.

My only regret is that it’s not human company.