a bone
pumiced into a piece of obscure origin
with bevelled edges
pictographic cracks
at one with bleeding abalone shells
look how it fits my hand
the perfect tool
to turn over pebbles
a harbinger of safety:
the jaw it had once been perhaps
now digging for striated teeth of fish
all predators deposed
a box of books
set out on the curb
next to a box of lemons
uniform as ordinance
Seamus Heaney
half winking
from the set
of poet postcards
I think of him as a friend
a kind of home
another omen then
but meant to be detached
postmarked
and sent
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