everything i find
is taken by my hands first
and before i can pull it close
it is torn like the sleet
that lands on a rooftop
and as it melts away
it runs down the shingles
like a stream of clear salamanders
carrying gravel into
the gutter
and pulls bits of leaves
from the last batch of a dying tree
each inscribed with my initials
just as i had left them on the trunk
into the downspout
drooling on the lawn to leave
a soft spot
where it all waits to drain into the earth
and anyone who steps on it
laughs when they hear the water
slide into their shoes
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