come home and find myself

already sleeping

the fog — timidly wading over hills
tendrils of its curiosity running ahead
down roads and paths

pressing into magnificence
and finding the mundane

examining the mundane
and realizing the magnificent

we met and words spilled from her mouth

each one, watering some seed i didnt know had been planted
shared laughter, shared space, and eye contact
and then

like fog’s pioneering tendrils
we move in directions towards different spaces
back into our respective, rote experiences

fog keeps walking, i keep sleeping

but our open mouths were apertures for magnificence
Her waters pouring forth, nourishing concealed seeds
& even in the rote — these things are taking root.

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