a ten-second tears falls

from bleak but truthful faces

with a poultice-like mask

from mistaken-youth places


what are the choices to change,

stop for 30 days, complain

be clean, let it become, what it is,

has not been: a new routine


they serve several to make

a plan: better go in time

while it’s time not yet, but soon

quite fast past to stop rhyme


landing on a telling song

the three of us they belong

on the ice mountain land there’ll be

no green happy return along


can’t image how to remember

to think with eyes, back curled

deep holes sore edges sunken energies

gladly cut off from all worlds


this may be the land lie

in front of virtuous survival

they only see side views

it’s not their full arrival


the brown land’s rocks

jump stay in the moment

stacked stone statues gentle

grabbing patience to hold it

This poem is about: 
My community


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