Arriving in a blanketing mist
The dew is stout
Perched perilously atop the shimmering blades
Of a once sun starched lawn
These mornings beckon the added layers
Curled breath’s steam the dawning of day
Tiny figures with canine approach lead the master
Walking with solar light he studies his exhales
The work is laborious
Focusing his blurred consciousness by choice
Rising it curls with escape
Till the moment apexes
With vanishing memory
The years have cycled him here
To northern avenues
Far from the winds of despair
Beneath the leaning elm he takes it all in
Footing the anniversary of his mother’s death.
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