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                                What Matters   

 

                                                  The hair

                                                  whitens to snow

                                                  and assumes a kind of permanence

 

                                                 the hand

                                                 cannot unclasp

                                                 and lays a mottled lightness over mine

 

                                                 the eyes

                                                 translate blueness

                                                 through mist that cataracts to grey

 

                                                 we talk

                                                 or do not talk

                                                 it is only being here that matters