Twelve Forty Six a.m

Where am I when I’m not here?

Another place


It is day

How do I know?

There is a weary senile oak


There is an ill-colored sun

Grizzled and tired, older than

The day says it should be

And it spatters rays

Like a leaking water hose

Sprinkles here and there

Of crusted faded light

The moon of the night

Is brighter than this

But the sun

The ancient one

Labors on

Carrying his load

Tattered boots on the crusted road

His back arched low

Yet he shines

He shines and shines and shines

And the grey brown-green tree

Smiles and smiles and smiles.

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