Quickening (s)

Night unhurriedly folding mat

Ceding to dawn’s miraculous

Light splattering luxuries

 

Garden’s audible rise and slide

Soft wings’ whirrs and pecks

Hiss and whistle of life stirring

 

Chill’s cussed curs, mouth’s foaming

Wait on haunches to bite and congeal

Breath, get downed by puffy down jackets

 

Awakening daily to tantalizing patterns

Haphazardly formed by unraveled streams

Of consciousness, dreams’ chiseled

 

Gathering light and shadow yarns

Rolled into balls of wit, readying self

For another dogged coherent knit

 

Dividing lines separating life from death blur yet again

Fogged by daily events’ unfolding, even, as is, my daily wont

I firmly traipse with thin threads of just “being” tied to wrists

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