11/365

at last

only two places to look,
at or away.

many places to call home,
but only one to really rest.

a fleeting space of suspension,
between arrival and exit.

there together, restless eyes
gazing at familiarity,
instantly knowing it would not last.

at last

only two places to look,
at or away.

many places to call home,
but only one to really rest.

a fleeting space of suspension,
between arrival and exit.

there together, restless eyes
gazing at familiarity,
instantly knowing it would not last.

D.K. Pan, 42

Seattle

 
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POET OF THE WEEK

Victoria Rolph

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