never a place
not shelter built with brick or wood
not land passed down through time
not candlesticks carried in hurried flight
never these, though closer
not the one who loved in childhood
not the one who did not
not teachers encountered through many years
not community gathered round
closer still but not even these
a fragment of song, halt in aged voice
a sip of tea, earthy depth with each cup
a scent of salt, overlay to morning fog
and the wrinkles of a beloved hand
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