Leap Year

That gift of three hundred
and sixty-five
handwritten notes

I sealed inside
separate envelopes by
my spit-worked lips

and ink-numbered them
by my pen-curled fingers
They were a year’s reading

Few were opened up
And I
never took account

of your leap years
or your reversals
or your taking advantages

So my short works
are now fiction
yet to be finally read

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