39 Horses My Mom Loved ONLINE
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The Past
Through the pane of glass
she feels light and then
later 
no light
During these times
she gropes at the darkness
feeling for a pulse
and snatching it firm in the vice
of her plaster/plastic hands
she searches its rhythm
by plaster touch
drawing each beat
through imagined pores
and draining the lights
of the evening
Outside, street lamps flicker
in a counter rhythm
Semi-illuminating
semi-visible buds of glass
bits and gloss cloth
Time passes 
Her insides percolate imperceptible
through the glass pane to the 
passing glances that sometimes
see her there- super-imposed behind their
own translucent eyes
Her skin welcomes them as guests
as they guide their hands to fix
their hair