Blessed are the meek in the great metallic spaces

In my winter

my dust-gatherings

my readings

and my laziness,

I gathered rust

in the carburetor

and a mouse

took residence in the upholstery.

He was the only engine

and the only sound

nestled in the great steel.

Gentle and harmless,

small warmth

gathered there

assembling all the working parts left of me.

Then there was April,

and when the engine turned

once more over

he left silently.

Work done.

The winter tenant,

who knew this body

better than it knew itself.


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