First Circle

First Circle

Watching the wasps flitting
in the autumn sunlight.
The air is cool;
the breeze ripples the canopies.

Clouds hang in the sky
like a half-coat of paint
abandoned by the painter.

I feel the same, half ready for life,
half awake, half numb.
Full of questions without answers
and melodies without refrains.

When will I be
and who for?

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