I want to move
                                                               my shoulders out of their droop

But will you be one
of those who listens                   

                                                               to the first words out of my mouth

only to immediately begin
twirling the phone or looking at the time

Ordinary anguish—  

                                                              a powdery blight along stippled branches

I think even the leaves
of the persimmon ask

                                                             about the weight of light

How it falls                                                          

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