morning sun
through an open window
a spring breeze stirs dust
–
hotel recycling
the sound of glass breaking
through my earmuffs
–
meditating
I realise
the cockroach isn’t dead.
–
bus stop
a man and his twin sons play
rock, paper, scissors
–
spring dawn
my steely resolve
dissolves in its light
the world is my home
and I belong in it
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