No more imaginary conversations
I abandon explanations even to myself.
The yellow sun burns bright
wasps congregate in the attic.
There are muddy footprints tracked through dust
I expectorate gobs of pollen.
Clear the passages to promote full breaths
I inhale deeply I do not speak.
Poet13's Blog 
A moment is perfectly caught, the presence of flu, despair , saddness
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And tranquility. Thanks for your comment.
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