Rushing back

With a hush that fell
when all was asleep,
sensory mechanics
of bread, rain, and
a white knitted poncho from childhood
came rushing back to me

the fog this morning
was most glorious…
spaces between ages
showed necessary lines;
I will never be as beautiful
but possibly as misunderstood
since carried on vapors
are lessons of silence,
as simple as love or adrenaline
and burned just as quickly.

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