Her palms drag through the cold,
two winters embed in smooth skin.
Oak. Umber. Sepia.
The day’s rain haunts fingertips.
Strands of roots replace the memory of
old, easy days; restore hollow impressions.
His charcoaled stones left behind,
found lodged in shoes, sinking between
cracks. The ripples of his footprints stain
mossy rugs and rickety floorboards:
smudging half-hearted attempts at
steadiness. Her hands, muddied by
yesterdays, ease towards
the bathroom sink: lavender soap.
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