I shake it. It makes a feeble sound like an ant’s complaint. I pour it out onto the table where it breaks into a pile of noise, and like Humpty Dumpty, there’s no putting it back together again, with everything jumbled sideways, mixed up, broken, strings merely tuning,
so I let it go and grab a different box,
shake it, spill the contents, look through shards of noise,
choose one,
start writing.
split indifferently
by a seedling
stone
by a seedling
stone
by Gary LeBel
Cumming, Georgia
Cumming, Georgia
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