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The rat of worry nibbles with regularity
at the edges of my mind.
Time-out while isolation and hot sun
cause a temporary mending

Feet sinking into ancient fields
kicking and nudging the lithic past
with dusty toes in awkwardly furrowed rows.
Everything in the proper perspective.

Life figured in millennia makes the present
frail and momentary.
No fences or highways.
No sounds but the buzzing of insects,
and the eternal whispers of a soft, dry wind.

But everything is on hold.
And the rodent sits quietly
waiting patiently, so patiently
for my imminent return.