by Kamila More Cabisada

Leaves brown and curled
Fall on my backpack
Dusty summer roadside
I see you now, Footpath

Look once, twice, thrice
Up close and discerning
Cut-outs, forms, lines
On blank papyri, swirling

Wayward ink bottles
Jive wildly in the sun
In heaps they all fall
By the wayside they call
All spent and wasted and numb

Familiar quaintness
Transfixing glow
I see you now, Footpath
I have been here before

footpath wallpaper

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