The gilded number thirteen’s paintis peeling on a stucco wallabove a crooked doorframe, quaint,which leads into a crafter’s stall —Inside, old works and tools remain, laid out where shadowed hands once stood;the shop recalls the work and painthat flowed in craft to make it good.I search for luck in thirteen’s sign,what curse or charm this number brings —but find that what endures is mine:I’m shaped by what I choose to keep.
