Tracing the finger bones
in my shortest finger
the thumb and index of my opposite hand
try to learn the shape below the skin
of what will remain when the meat is gone
15 years ago a van emptied onto a Brooklyn street
filling the sidewalk with a cluster of women
one approached me
offered a warm greeting
and got right to it
Where do you think you’ll go after you die?
Back into the ocean I said
after a pause so short it astonished me
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