The can knows
      The words gestating
   Pregnant paints.
Looming eyes on dusty hands: 
                      Gazing sharp through unbolted doors,
   Sifting through tangled years.
Peace falls slowly on-
       The butterfly bends her wing,
   Wind picks up the leaves. 
Shadow drops its fear,
                 Behind the red clay of earth:
         Fallen from green grass. 
Neighbors endure all:
       Trash and mud and muddled green,
   Found and lost with ease. 
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