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The empty shoes are walking
across the hearth.
One snapshot moment: they pause,
posing,
in front of the fireplace.
Between a lopsided amateur vase full of flowers,
and
an empty professional vase with a lid,
which used to hold biscotti.
The shoes pose, in the middle of their stride,
as if they just jumped up there,
sideways,
like a goofy extrovert was wearing them.
But really I know they're walking forward:
having jumped over the sunflowers,
They are preparing to punt the biscotti vase.
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