my home altar


 
a friend, she showed me hers.   now, I’m showing you mine.   tokens.
nothing more.   if there be any magic, it’s in me, not these allegories.

my tokens are heart lungs muscles fingers toes, even those.   capitalization,
think I lost that one.   words, really, where do those originate?   not me,
not me, said the rabbit.   cousin Alice, is that you?

my friend, I think she also had a snake.   he stayed in his box, and me in mine.
not so fond of snakes.   although that one in the garden, I had to laugh.   no
hiding that recognition.   true friends are hard to find.

wings to get over the tricky parts.   three flames to illuminate the way.

a wooden bowl that was once on fire in the hills west of me.

          I’m ready.
 
 
 

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