On the left,
my fingers clutch
on the wide-eyed wound.
Gaping back at me,
waiting for the needle’s pierce
and fragile thread.
will not suffice,
I have to go round and round,
closing the lids of this worn out eye
bracing it with
the thread’s might.
Another wound may stir
from firm slumber,
exposing yet what lays within.
My needle and thread
go round.
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