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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