Poem by Donald Vincent - donald@mrhippresents.com Photo and video by Icarus Blake

ONE GLOVE from Citizen Brooklyn on Vimeo.

It starts with mittens—then oh, shit, a single glove
cold and alone on its own stuck in mold and mud,

crinkled up in dust, cusped with morning dew
invisible to its owner.

A glove misses another glove like light misses
darkness, or keys miss locks, or feet miss socks.

They can’t make it if they tried. Just two gloves,
yearning for a you and I.

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