For Monique

            —a small meditation on my gratitude

Teatime

Drinking from this teacup on which, in an unknown language, there are (perhaps) inscriptions of blessing and good luck, I hold it in my hand, which also has mysterious lines I cannot explain. Are these two scripts in agreement? and since they are alone together and eternally hidden under the dome of my gaze, can they converse in their way and . . .
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