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I jogged with optimistic torpor, unusually,
wonderfully aware of the gravity
holding me down to this earth

My eyes leaked a sad sort of joy

The trees were naked
having disposed of their garments
which crunched beneath my plodding

I didn’t mind the imperfection then
It seemed right, somehow
So I embraced the air with my
swinging arms and raggedly even breath

There was a pain in my face
behind my mask
My nose ached with the oppression
of sickness, or allergies
My eyelids drooped, undefeated but
tired, resting

I understood something,
though I didn’t know what

A force guided me
Somewhere, or nowhere
—home





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