Low level hum of the fan in here, the day looks sparse- wide open,
under sheets and cool air.
Theorize and project, but I’m not there. Something tickles my throat,
feeling fortunate to be anywhere.
Anyplace but the past, left to broken down pastures, now tall fields of grass.
Nothing sings like waking to a new day, the hum, background noise.
The morning dew, a life to renew, somewhere above ground
between the rough edges left behind, silver lined persistent, and the new found gravity I’ve found.