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Honor of the Time

Half-moon morning
bright pink eastern sky
to the south, cool blue

It's January spring
the sun slants kindly on
budding trees

I'm a ghost, walking
the path I walk
every morning

A ghost of honest memory
taking the well-worn path
that I know so well.

The honor of love
is lingering on the air,
a lava heartbeat

I see a woman
in the distance, her muffler
wrapped about her neck

She also sees me
this thin morning ghost
and she smiles

When we meet on the
sidewalk, we do a small dance
in honor of the time.


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