It's important

Long grey blue ashy days 

sometimes begin with pink clouds tumbling over one another -

those butter yellow skies between

trying to wake the birdsong,

drying the damp leaves 

and crevices.

Time topples outward now. Away. Away from the day and him. 

I am weak from 11 days of emotion. Shaking, fear spiking, thought-spirals dustclouding my way.

Where is he? I need to speak with him. It's important. 


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