watching the sun rise over the mountains

there is nothing left to do

but begin again the boxes

have been shipped

the bed that we made

must be slept in

old tools brought back

into use to find new paths

for everything i wind a string

of remembrance around my finger

pull it tight so the pain of it keeps me

conscious pull out my working

manuscript writing as faithfully

as i know how in strange houses

where I don’t belong this will pass

there will be some routine that

comforts me, but right now

i’m on the edge of it awake

keeping myself safe by observation

holding on tight to eternity while

i wait in limbo for the oblivion to return


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