London Poem: Day 35

21 September

It has begun,
In slow rapturous breath,
Twisting back and forth,
Receding and conceding.
How long can it last, as the world begins to slow
And our nature must adjust?
Your voice creaks in uncertainty,
Allowing syllables to inch out,
Measured, with worry filling each new one uttered.
Keep going, with sure steps,
And let this wash over, and know
Where we rest in the world that won’t wait.
I am not the world.
I cease and start on command
And I can wait
For the spring or summer or fall to see
The brilliant colors I was promised to see blossom.

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In flux

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