Poem in which everything remains much the same

the ground still
wet                      underfoot isn’t it

0                                                    a comfort
that the blue light from your television
will be alive on the lid of it all

and isn’t
your chest a little more
0                       swollen, just knowing that

the grass will be no more or less green
or brown          and the coffee will still cool

0                                      too quickly tomorrow

Karl Smith

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