Brown Leaves

the morning seems heavy / hard to reconcile / silent orange sunshine slips into my room slanting / somehow out of place / shouldn’t it be painting a pastel pink blue dance across an icy white canvass?

this low golden air / illuminated / frozen / suspended

is it the palpable déjà vu of this gifted moment?

i will rise now / build a fire / take the gift and put it in my pocket

soon the day will sweep in like a warm west wind / scattering the frosty morning like so many brown leaves / what remains is only the impression and the mystery of my existence

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