#1304 - plotless

 

1304

28.vii.23

4.210

plotless

 

the cold in the bones of the day

call home

 

a day midst mattering where we are

a stillness

 

weather absent, just this chill

 

a gathering – my own reflection

 

and loudly lit

 

the day in the book in my head

let’s persist

 

new angle to each moment

 

call up the forest we’re in

 

another half of the world is burning

 

soon it will be our turn

 

it’s down the line for far

those little birds still sing

 

for now

mulberry buds reach high

 

nothing to see here