On my walks, meant to fight the
familial
and add years to my life, no
leisurely stroll,
the raspberries grow wild, dense among
the flowers,
yellow and white and orange along
the side of a dusty road
I follow, distracting me, red-blooming
there
in the heat of July after a soft
rain,
a sweet feast, a diversion for my
soul,
fighting, too, the fading years
stretched ahead.
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