Watching the sun
rise over the city
I come back to this place
when I am eager
to be back
on the path
and
also
when I am completely lost
afraid of what
lurks
behind the blinds
I see through
the sliver of an opening
the skies
lighten
to cornflower
and
cream
my words
are loose skin
on the back of arms
that know no family
only the random
baggage carried
through a half century
experiences gathered
in the mossy coat
of fantasy
only when landing
hard
onto the reality
of this path
do I realize
it is not
soft
moist
shadow grown green
but
swam vapor
a pall
over my eyes
how much of it was never seen
never touched
and yet
tripped over blindly
leaving a crumpled crying heap
others walk around
as if invisible
or rather
the mirror
of other's
shame
they are unwilling to see
Do I have to fall
in order
to be seen?
It is time
to
open my blinds
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