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by Kay D. Weeks
Give me a day of limited intent,
two eyes adhered to single step ahead.
Fix me to peace and love, so not hell bent
to fight, go back, repeat—a soul like lead.
Upstairs window, looking, and I saw
those trees so clearly etched on morning sky.
Then wintry shroud rolled in, why do I seek
gray forms in silence? Let me say goodbye.
Some clarity, I'd hoped—usurped by fog,
and I, for one, was stymied at the change.
From long horizons—young— to burn a log:
I'm take the simple focus, narrow range.
This fog will clear, so what else shapes a day?
Back to journey inward—Light the way!