Select a poem:
Some Dust
I bought a Chinese saké cup
    in San Francisco.
The man said it was
    a hundred years old.
It was not costly.
I liked it.
A small flower at the bottom
    with some dust settled there.

When I got home I found
the dust was not dust but
an imperfection in the glaze that would
    not come off.

We have to get over it in our minds!
For Jim Hartz
 
 
 


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