Return the figures,
to their sets,
at the still point of the turning world,
crossing my fingers,
holding my breath,
waiting for the deluge to break free,
close the box, out of sight.
Are the cracks apparent?
does the damage show?
rubbing dust into the void,
hoping,
she won't know.
close my eyes, disappear,
at the still point of the turning world,
i am still here. the figures still crack'd,
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