Stepping over
broken
cobblestones
I made my way
to morning’s light
wondering
how the path
of day would stray
where I would find
myself midway and then if
the end
-ing would come
as surprise
or disappointment
depending
my course over
cobblestones, if
my ankle twisted
or my sole steadied
Then above as I downed
the soft sharpness
of gin in afternoon
I saw green growing
into blue’s domain
and I knew it mattered
not whether I pray
or sing
but only
that I keep
walking
YES!!!
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