Drying Process

She is a leather shoe
floating in brine
and I am thankful
for the world
filtered through her green
light bent with pliers

We keep pressing our backs
against rain-stained walls
or couches that trap
our time between cushions
where it sits, face to the stars
talking to pennies minted in 1972

We are quiet howls
lightning bolt knees
voices getting caught
in an uncertain sky
wearing down teeth
or shoe rubber
baring our fists when necessary
we are stuck in the drying process
and I am thankful
for our bitten nails
for someone to show the scrapes to

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