and I've many
I've held inside my hand.
Glossy golden copper
is a showstopper. But was I

thinking as Lincoln turned
muddy brown as he was passed
around? It didn't make sense. His worth
is just a cent golden or muddy. But

didn't the boy shine in the windows
of the stores, the drawers and painted doors
I walked through. I've a pocket full of
him I counted out in tens that jingled

in my purse. And with a flip reversed
to tails. I lost my head as I shed my clothes.
A rose in the rubble waiting for someone to
stumble over me. But it was only he.