the Cimmerion season

cloudy skythere is no easy way through
no super moon 
or wayside
with brats and hot coffee
the storm is too fickle
for that
there’s just me
in my raincoat
duck boots
trying not to slip into
1/2 fallen branches
and mud
and praying
the waterproofing
i spent years on
will hold
it’s a Cimmerion season
the moon
is possessed
by the fog 
the rowdy tree
has convinced me
i still have some vision
i know again
what faith feels like
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