in the hive
or packaged together and open on that day
the day of forgiveness, how could one know
where the groves in the hand will direct
as the togetherness is in-cased in cardboard
revealed by the eyes that see it first
groped over and mauled with high degree
maybe we should write it in a book
forget the hook, the fish are jumping in the brook
the right day will come, one hopes
as the glitter falls from your eyes, piles high
the riven of life takes its course, of course

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