in the mudroom, different
boxes exist, some empty
some cut into slats
some folded to rest
one contains paper with
numbers and conversations
on weight, how much
to see into your
body, to measure
the malign, how
much for comfort
care, pulsing feel-
good through
your veins
and how heavy
your heart
without the
respirator, how
did the soul
breathe, in a metallic
blue box, closed
glistening in
the sun like
your eyes
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