we are
as we step
down the icy stairs
gripping a frozen rail,
we shuffle to the gate,
searching out
tufts of green grass .
cautious
as we bend for
the newspaper, a baton
of ink under melting glass.
how quickly the time
has passed,
closing in on
a whistle around our neck.
the cane by the door.
the neighbor
seeing to our mail
and milk.
rising early
without alarm,
each day earlier
than the day before.
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