Bated by breath that bathes the Earth
I stand at attention
my senses poised to filter in
the bloom of morning.
And I swear beside these quiet stones
that my grief will be interred
before my flowers wither.
The fear that, could we backtrack
the landscape of our lives
we would not find a footprint,
is it you that binds our tongues and bodies?
I see some brothers and sisters moving mute,
ever scanning the horizon for higher ground.
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