While walking home from a class I stopped to talk, with Henry.
Henry takes leaves, and puts them away. Safely, against future need, it seems.
With his wheelbarrow, it seems.
Henry seems a good man. Henry takes leaves.
But I got these, first.
Sorry, Henry. I say sorry. To you, but.
But first.
To first things first, and.
These are now out of reach. Yours. Your reach, in my mind. Mine.
In the quiet dark inside there.
Against future need, mine own, and you yours theirs too. Ours.
You have enough. For now? For your needs, in your wheelbarrow.
And I, well, I have these. Fair.
Fair deal, Henry?
Fair enough?
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