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Counting 

In spite of it all
Your life comes down to this
One thing –

The breath
Through your nose,

Complex interplay of ribs
Diaphragm, abdominals, the
Broken heart that still moves
Oxygen throughout,

This Poem
Of inside and out,

This home
For which you labored,
Counting change into a jar,
Palm forward, eyes down,
Back bent and sweating.

It is
After all,
Just a room we pass
From the cool shade
Of a blue-gray hall,
Into the fine, silken
Sunlight
We glimpse

Beyond the door.

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