Beggar

Every 
morning,

we throng
 the river

- white doves, 
few cranes and me.

The rippling
 water

of the 
Hudson river

sings its 
solemn song to us.

Her belly has 
flattened out,

 and desiccated 
are her lips.

As 
we leave,

she extends 
an open palm

begging for
 a kiss.
 
 

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