every coin has a human soul in it--and id like to get to know you better, always--really, you

My dad had a plastic 70qt bucket of coins he didn't sort for 30 years. When we finally sorted them in the basement we wore blue vinyl gloves like surgeons, dismantling decades of grime--iron oxides and copper alloys. Here I keep finding pennies on my floor; I leave them there, because I don’t know where they came from, and because where else are they going to go? And besides every coin has a human soul in it. At some point, Andrea and I will be reincarnated into Anna May Wong quarters. The first coin I ever wanted I stole from a wishing fountain at Stew Leonard’s. It was a bright new 2009 memorial penny, the log cabin one. That was right before they changed the back from the Lincoln monument to the shield of the union. The penny was on the ledge when i took it, not quite in the fountain, but still wet and cold in my hand from the spray. My stomach dropped leaving Stew Leonard's. I didn't make my own money when I was 7, how could I explain my new income to my mom if she found it-- That was someone else's wish I took-- but what can you wish for that will come true in Norwalk, Connecticut? And the sorry truth is that I wanted it more than I could ever feel guilty. Your soul in a coin-- you, interesting you, wooden you, indeterminate you, centuries of you; though I can’t imagine you at all--we (you and I) could be in my pocket for eternity, too sentimental to live--you in your small cost-ineffective copper carving--2 cents for every one--and me, if only in my love for you. (this one doesn't make any sense sorry)