it is coming, in the mist creeping

it is coming
in the mist creeping
over the hills
kissing needles on
thirsty firs
beetles scurry through
the parched grass
aphid children
sliding down stalks as high
as the coyote paw
returning home
in the morning light

the weighted scent
of the distant ocean
gently flows through
the window cracked
and kisses the cheek
of the dreaming boy
he knows
he is home
creeping in the mist

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