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Autumnal Handprints MAG
Waves of dried, brown handprints crinkle under my chestnut
leather capped toes
Rustle
Crunch
Whisper
I reply
Why did you have so many hands to begin with, maple dear?
You wanted to cradle a piece of sky in your bark-cloaked
fingers?
But you should've known;
the wind can't be bottled;
it will struggle to swirl, be free,
and it will pluck off your red (once green), windburned
hands,
for them to be shoved and raked
into curbside piles
and paint patterns on the dusty, gray sidewalk.
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