After the bridge day
exhaustion spreads pin
icicles inside
my slow repeating
heart
the day subsumed to
darkness
food taken work given
packing for the new
world
views unpacked across
my lap
dismay still idles
under
all motions breaths catch
gazes slide
this new world
as old
as hell to rue
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ReplyDeletegosh, love this poem!
ReplyDelete
ReplyDeleteA wonder
When luck left
The New World