The week was a week. It is over.
Sunday is not here yet.
This is the part I like:
no one is waiting
for me to be somewhere.
The urgency drains.
I sit with what happened
and let it be what it was.
Light through a window
at an angle that only happens
in the early dark of spring.
A half-thought from earlier
I am not chasing to a finish.
Saturday holds itself open.
No particular shape.
Just: here.
And the practice is to let it
be exactly that.
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