Grind

I washed my face this morning

while the sun peeked over the hills

spilling a hazy light over the grass

The roses look a little battered

from the storm, petals like fresh wounds

scattered over a sleepy boxer

I rinsed my cereal bowl

without remembering eating,

daydreams taking the place of awareness

Smoothing my dress and slipping on shoes

ahead of a day full of a bloated calendar

with little room for summer breezes

I think I’m on a track of loss

where I feel millions of others nearby

without touching or stopping to breathe

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