Wednesday, April 3, 2013

7 toward the Omer

People on the balcony across from me
are hammering away at a plastic container.
They pass the hammer back and forth,
he without gloves, she in yellow gloves.

I would say that I'd been trying
to identify the source of the sound
for weeks, but that is not true.
I had wondered, sure, but never looked.

A white dog weaves around their ankles.

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