eyes still sleep blurred and

mind empty of dreams except for

the flash of red so brilliant

the partial curve of vintage

Volkswagen hood gleaming above

gravel at graveyard's edge

someone reminded me that

my mother saved bread crumbs

with a copper crumb catcher

polished but worn from years

in Brooklyn at her mother's

table, tea cart, for city birds

living in alleyway nests above

concrete and clinging to brick

singing city songs long before

we moved to the country

leaving family and friends for

new birds, a brook, the woods

in my mind, it is all so clear

so unforgettable, so seamed into

the very cells of my being, no aisles

no old paths nor new roads leading

here or there saying stop, yield,

no right on red will ever take

me faraway from those I love nor

from the quirky kitchen stove

described by one as physics defying nor

from the hearts who have touched mine

nor the ears and minds who listened

such priceless joy and laughter shared,

all of this is living at its best

I cannot really want for more

having held so many stories

and yet, there is no denying

I welcome each minute, each hour

each perfect cup of morning

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