The coin lies flat
on the slate of stone
It's been spun like a top
then imbedded in bone
The soft texture can be felt
between each rough groove
It can leave you feeling
too afraid to move
But that's not a story
you haven't heard before
You've felt it stirring
each time you went for the door
And the rain stopped you
each lonely time
So you'd reach in your pocket
to pull out a dime
It's pressed hard in your fingers
and you give it a spin
While holding the breath
you forgot to breathe in
- January 2017
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