The Walkers

The one in the baby blue shirt

stands up

eyes closed

to taste the sun


Another crouches low

mimicking his ridge of choice.

There’s one wrinkling his arch

to feel it’s folds


between each small step

One stomps across a lawn

towards the bell

maybe he thinks he’s a kraken


The saunterer feels a puff of sky

in his pockets

One sucks the breeze

off another’s scarf


One sails surely

through nature’s crush

One makes a tiger lily

his first born or mother


The croucher recrouches

to study an opposing slope

One walks within a blurry dinner scene

dimming his gaze


One reaches a boundary, then

turns around

Another stashes a crabapple or raspberry

to mark the day


Another one reaches a boundary, then

another, both turn around

The one in the baby blue shirt

opens his eyes

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