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Teacup
How small is too small
when the world is the size
of his teacup?
I am waiting for words
in quiet, broken only
by the subtle reproach
of a single mockingbird.
He smiles as though
he does not hear the song.
"One lump or two?"
The past lives in his eyes,
crowding the story
that dangles before him
at a dizzying angle.
He balances a saucer
on his left knee, to hold the
world steady.
I sip, he sips,
words forgotten.
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