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Like a bowl of seeds
on the counter’s edge
precariously balanced:

the words I need,
green and fresh
for the paean planting
await me.

Wobble-legged,
I try to keep it steady
but it is too late,
it is already overthunk

and with the slightest quake
slips, falls, explodes
across clean, white,
patterned linoleum

just a hair out of my panicked grasp.

This article appears in August 2015.