Upon This Hand

I open my hand   and   blow the ash

from my palm.

I wipe it clean with the worn corner

of my shirt.

Then,

hold it to my heart.

I can feel the beat

Thump

Thump

Thump.

I can hear the pump of life

circuiting through my withered veins.

Both cannot be seen—

though alive and real

as a cry cracking the silence of the night.

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