The Pilgrimage: Part 12 / Phillip Neal Tippin

I look and see
Elegant means.

So consistent is the blessed base
That thanksgiving begins
To ride on the back
Band, man the brink
Of indulgence.
I’m still here
Just not right 

We both know by 
What we’ve heard.
Hard done by if I harm
By another’s words.

The fake have looked so real for so long
   —I knew not how real,
I disdained the real in my hand as a fake.

There’s a slow becoming
About the place
As some things get done
While others wait
Still, I’m glad to say, evening walks
Stay delightfully the same.

Provision take,
Contingency at loss
Of the city, a place of peace,

The trees
Fight for head space
To gain a crown
Of light.

All poetry and supplementary material: copyright 2020-2021 by Phillip Neal Tippin. All rights reserved.

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