We found ourselves moving
through a haze,
a sun-bleached, wind-burned, work-worn haze,
moving, because we weren’t clear
how to stop,
asleep on our feet, not sure
how to find revival
We felt nomadic, rustic, almost homeless,
though our home is growing,
though our home is vast.
We will sleep, we will rise,
we will work again,
we’ll count this all for joy
after we’ve rested.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 21, 2019
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