Lines
astonished fingertips
trace these patterns
worn into my skin
ornaments of age,
as cobblestones from
medieval towns persist
even as skyscrapers
push at their edges
is there some wisdom
I do not know
that hides in these lines,
waiting for release
will I be grey
before these creases
give up their mysteries
or will my deafened ears
miss those whispered secrets
old women share
with a mischievous smile
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