a bag of nerves
struggling with my dry cereal
every
school
morning
in winter i was given bread
to
take
out
to
feed
the
birds
i savoured that short walk
down the garden path
to the bird table
the creases in the cement
the knots in the wood
it
was
a
small escape
some baby zen
an oasis of morning purpose
in
the
mad whirl
of
unexpressible days
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