The lights go down,
another perilous,
death defying,
family act,
performed
to perfection.
I watch
the dust of origins,
settle on my emptied
table.
Out my window,
winter sun,
on trees,
consoles me,
mother river's,
drumhum,
thankfully,
is audible again.
Tension drips off me
like
huge wallowing tears.
They trickle,
slowly,
down
past my toes,
rooting,
grounding,
circling,
bringing me,
luckily,
back home
to chance.
Back home to chance
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