Tuesday, February 25, 2020

February

Something about the morning sun
on my tired face
on the front porch
in the cold air

I feel the stirrings
of something like hope

I sit in my warm memories
of papaya on the top deck
in the jungle
of the waves that tossed me
head over heels on the black sand

I close my eyes
the promise of springtime
it makes me ache
It feels something
like hope

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