I pick them like my father picks
vegetables at the market:
he walks, and looks, and touches,
smells, and knocks (for a watermelon),
then purchases the best offer,
hands full of morning goodness.
One of the traditionally
empty-handed, I at least
pick and gather words, carefully,
those abandoned, long-faced words
left for later, then forgotten;
I assemble them and send them
to addresses while we're still here,
and make those who've forgotten
remember.
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