on the brink
of the calendar turning
the hourglass upside
down for sands burying
the sky is more
gray than blue the
ground more brown
than green
my boots meet
the brown without
leaving tread for the
mud is frozen
the early morning sky
smiles in readied lavender
seeming to offer invitation
to gather eastward
though presence renders
any reaching unnecessary
so, I shall remain in
this, an unfenced place
at least this is
how it reads in my mind
a coffee in hand the
steam as my breath
misting remembrance
of Mother and the
smell of snickerdoodles
slightly burning at bottom
her laugh a lighthouse
one star and a million
truths beaconed when
sightlessness narrows navigation
for again I am traveling
in days rushing forward
with a weary back carrying
my pack of woes as stones
and I can hear rushing
water though boulders cut
from the same time that
carves the deeper lines
across my brow
1. Cover photo design by Author.
© Copyright William Hazel, 2024
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