the sound
of snow repeatedly
like a panini, with toasted
tracks left in the wake
of succulent
steps –

the thought
of grandma
finally being able
to afford
a new set of
at seventy-eight –

the look
on the new barber’s face
down in the
as he received
his one-hundred-percent
tip –

the bowl
of congee
waiting at the end
of the day, hot
with scallion
pearls and roasted
peanuts –

the magic
of you
stopping time on the train
tuesday morning
suspending the count-
down to tardiness
with a look


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