All day it is with her like a song
even as she slices a breakfast orange,
brushes her hair,
shuts a window.
She is listening to it
when company calls
and she talks about yesterday's news,
says good-bye at the door.
Then, alone with it finally
in late afternoon,
she puts it on the desk,
as though she were putting flowers in a vase.
Then she slips it into the envelope,
seals it with her tongue.
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