Night leans on the dock
Mimicking the sun
The boat waits.
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The fence casts its careful geometry
but the vine does not study mathematics
It simply climbs.
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Nothing really moves,
yet the triangle arrives
and then it is gone.
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Fog moves like a thought
you almost had upon waking-
present, then dissolved.
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The fence speaks of wood
the frame speaks of forgotten
sky speaks only blue.
____________________
Not dead.
Not troubled.
Just deeply, sincerely done with trying today.
