WATERMARK

 

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I struggle up

from unpleasant

dreams. Sit down

to put on my socks.

Go downstairs one

step at a time.

 

I sweep yellow leaves

from the garden chair.

 

Another day.

Another death.

Another hole

in the social net.

Another blank canvas.

Another unwritten poem.

 

I pull my winter coats  

from the back closet.

 

A steady

unravelling

at the center

of this abundant life.

 

 

R.I.P. Max Richards