Seward Park Loop


the loop

sunrise 6:12am
His face moves across the waters
rising mist trips over soft lake shores
over ragged embankments, into the forest green
moist decaying, pressed wet, paths with warnings of
poison oak, treading slowly, emerging from the mist
in zombiesque quietude, a homeless camper, blue brown
earth stained snow-suit, matted hair, steel gray eyes,
this stillness, a soliloquy of personal madness,
wearing the smell of old clothes worn without underwear
tired reasoning’s, wearing the face of forced solitude,
of too much self-talk, of vapid sterility
a measured clinical retreat, from everyone to only I
what are the properties of morning?
the colors of first light
light pushing water
the whirlwind of light awakens
and sighs a breath
this August morning, fallen trees talk, moss covered
logs breathing, and the mist as a clouded whirlwind,
moves over the waters, hangs upon the green needles of pine
revealing a dew drop, as ancient liquid


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