I’m walking
into an unnamed garden,
empty as in
not
yet
awakened,
surrounding
a undefined construction,
desolated
as in not
yet occupied.
The soils
of my
shoes
produce a
crunching
vibration on
the pebbly pathway.
I feel I’m
disrupting the scene.
Walking on
my toes will not help.
There is no
beauty as in irresistible.
There is no
anxiety as in tempting.
A lost leaf
covered
with
dewdrops
felt from
the tree.
From a rusty
drainpipe
flows
blood-colored ink.
An invisible
hand wipes
the pearls from
the sheet
and writes
clearly
legible,
uneasy
unrest.
The
branches of the tree
are wearing
it
while the
stones of the building
are
sweating it all out
Uneasy Unrest.
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