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If this is not the only
cup
I can grasp,
with both hands hoisting high,
If this is not the only one
whose contents I can savor
like a blessing,
then what will happen
when I carefully set it down,
gently, so as not to break it?
Are there rows upon rows
of shiny containers
awaiting me?
I don't know.
I hold what I do know
close to my thirsty lips,
and drink.