London Poem: Day 111

6 December

Let us become wide, sprawling spaces,
Where the life at hand becomes
As it pleases.
The world comes and goes,
Blowing through in the
Wind’s soft breaths
We shape from our own
Doing and undoing.
The thin fabric is woven,
Cross-hatched, unaccustomed
To Wanderers,
More susceptible to unthreading.
It’s rare, however, to get
Those lost feet trodding carelessly,
Pulling up our crafty work.
So, I ask, let us disappear
Into the wild unknown
And take our chances.

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In flux

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