One small biopsy ten years ago  
after which, a lifetime of blue

pills. A bankruptcy, a building
up again, an overflow of stops

and starts. What's there to show?
A wind blows through and combs

the tops of waves. Skiff is a word
I learned not too long ago; several

bob in the shallows as if they
were some kind of animal tethered

to both the sea and land. But I
am rich now, with cargo from

the rinds of trees. I fold and
unfold them in my hands, listen

as with their mouths full of words
they murmur all day and all night.

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