let us count

the search wants to end with a fifty-year-old hand living
    on a woman's thigh         let us count their loved years

and let us count the dust on a construction man's surrendered shoulders, on his mouth open in shock, his red eyes,
blacker eyelashes: he is dying, dying tonight, while the Wednesday horses cover his newsprint with prayer and fate                 
                                                        win, this moment, win

Photo: Construction site, Hong Kong
Text: The end of the poem 'Subway Searching' published in 'Delicate Access'
(Wednesday is a horse racing, and betting, day in Hong Kong)

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