A crowded smile in the middle of the street. 
Waiting for someone to come pat me on the 
neck and get that blood flowing. Faucets of life
drenching the crosswalk and not a soul crossing—
Lost and found on a Sunday morning. What a 
time to remember being born, to taste the earthiness
of wilting sunshine between low coastal fog. 
Do the leaves always scatter so, tossed like 
halloween candy from an unfriendly doorway?
My legs are restless and endless. The shadows 
from light poles saunter wide across the grey streets
laughingly running over cars. I’ve heard it said 

that the path is the path, and the obstacles are the way. 
Just never considered which side I was on. 

Rozell, 2021.

1 Comment on “Pathfinder

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