Cobwebs dance in the morning sun

Tickled by a teasing breeze

Hint of fall on its breath

Green stillness at eye level

Pause button activated in my brain

Space for thoughts of peace, and not of evil

A future and a hope  

Shards of potential joy filtered through tree branches

Reach 8 a.m. fingers toward my pale, cracked skin

Uncertain path, newborn identity

Pulsating faintly under tissue-thin membrane

Answers as fragile as the gossamer threads

Woven between leaves

But in this now, 

Slanted sun on my skin

Cool air on my face



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