The marks of fingertips on fruit,
their bruise--- meaning it is rendered
sweet; meaning the milk-poison
        has been leached. And luck

is what comes sometimes after loss,
meaning the path you took wasn't
the one you were given. Before I
        learned of groups of musicians

in black playing instruments together, 
Symphony was the name of my grandfather's
barbershop: where he cut hair quietly,
        and what fell was like soft, dark grass.  

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