The death of a day:
I pause as the soil between
my toes heaves a sigh.
So little a thing:
the passing of a day unmarked
by blizzard or flood,
a day unscathed by
social scandal, just simply:
the death of a day.
In the field I stand
looking up, night wind soothing
the hairs on my neck,
Those small, small points telling me out of the great great Vast:
To know that I am here and the day has passed.
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