In the long hazy moments before the sun rises upon the world,
I sit in a deteriorating chair on the porch behind my house.
Steam rises from my lungs or my coffee cup.
The world is new and I am old.
The dog tosses a ball to the ground four or five feet away from where I sit.
She thinks that I will rise from my chair to throw the ball to her.
Either she is right, or I am.
I sit in a deteriorating chair on the porch behind my house.
Steam rises from my lungs or my coffee cup.
The world is new and I am old.
The dog tosses a ball to the ground four or five feet away from where I sit.
She thinks that I will rise from my chair to throw the ball to her.
Either she is right, or I am.
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