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Wandering Home

I wandered over the quiet green swaying

grass of hillside, along fence lines with

rusted wire, tiny spikes waiting to bite me

over crawdad front doors, dirt mounded up

around the holes.

I wandered over fallen leaves, brown, russet

golden, burgundy, masses humid and sticky

underfoot, slippery covering soft muddy ground

under the canopy of oaks, poplars, maples, and elms.

I wandered over bogs and muck straining to pick

cat tails atop dry stalks, dull brown seed pods

eyes rattling in their sockets

green veined lily pads facing heaven,

floating on watery beds umbilical cords

descending into darkness.

I am no longer there but I am still wandering,

reveling in what once was.


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