back again. it would have happened sooner or later.
the familiar mist of the morning march and the brakes of a
/ stopping train / through the hours looking upwards as
the gray clouds drift in our favor, for now.
back again, the melancholy of the afternoon purging downpour,
the alternate plans of static exercises, punctuated with collective endurance.
back again at the plans and preps, into that territory unfamiliar,
unburdened at the climax of first light’s march.
back again, the weekend shorter than ever before, each minute a moment.
back again, on a wet sunday evening before the everyday begins once again.


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