I will move away

to a place with
a big desk
that I carefully selected
at a secondhand store
and painted bright red

to a place with
chipped shelves
rising up the walls
that I will arrange
     my books
     my life

I will wake up

when the air is
still brisk

wrap myself in
a cashmere scarf
and walk to the
farmer’s market,
a slatted basket
with treasures

crisp, moss-colored apples
and squashes that match
the colors of the sunrise
and sweet yellow peppers

At home I will
tend to my treasures,
     wash and slice
     wash and slice

a harmony
a rhythm

let each bite
on my tongue,
     never hurry
     never hurry

I will measure time
by the paint
that wears off my desk as
I write,
and the way my
nature-treasures change
color and texture
with the seasons

until time becomes
something else entirely

a harmony
a rhythm

until I forget to measure
until I simply
     write and
     read and
     taste and
carry on

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