She rises from her soft
seat of enjoyment

puts aside her book and shakes
the glimmer from her gaze:

some falls into the rug, some
slips into the corners of her eyes.

This last amount goes into the kitchen
with her so that even after she

bends over a cucumber and

begins to slice, she’s not entirely
about the business of slicing.  Or

if she is about
the business of slicing

it is not a cucumber.

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