springing

this sun

has to be a joke, it is

so drizzly wet outside and we are dashing

from buildings, breathing deeply

but trying not to ruin our hair

(let me say that the deepest joy

is from looking down and remembering that I am rooted in

boots I’ve had since I was eleven.)

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One thought on “springing

  1. Pingback: Eggshells – A Saturday Poetry Post | Lyrical Anarchy

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