sitting in the waiting
while numbers
keep us company
all the moments
that were foretold
rest in heavy eyes
the hymns of the skies
written in the stars
and proclaimed from cards
those hymns trickle
down the spine
as water trickling
in the back of a cave
you see the w
maybe an m from
another perspective
it is written on the palms
outstretched in prayer
to touch your own palms
as withered leaf remnants
tell tales from the bottom
of a porcelain tea cup
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