Glass galleries hold
glimpses of memory
in a capsule
at the ice-cream corner
a flash—
threads still in the air
a pause:
new fibers twisting into strings,
old ones lowering their heads
into reminiscence
relation-mayhem
folding into
unknown joy,
if let
amid a dawn of a day—
almost gray,
almost rainy,
but not yet
you stop—
still
an almost-smile,
almost poignant,
still
staring at
a dragon-shaped balloon
guarding something
that needed no guarding,
or perhaps
it was not even there
the moment loosens,
fading into the day
and still
you don’t move
those 10,000 steps
a day
toward solitude
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