Feeding Off Sweet Air

Down-shifting up this hill
pressed in by bent guardrails
stared down by halogen
and tasting stale, gray fumes
I glance a bit higher

Lofty
loose
folds
of sky-yarn
touch the backlit
apricot air

I take my bite
and hold it in my mouth

This World.

I park in gravelled grit and resolve:
I can
open this door
to meet it —
as long as I savor that view
inside

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