Blink For Fear
by Diane Webster



Bronzed baby shoes
sold at a yard sale.
Wet shoe print on sidewalk
evaporated.
Blurred tread in mud
recycled to rain.
Hand prints in cement
pocked and flaked by breeze-thaw.
All like a homeless man
trudging his pack life
along highway
shimmering in heat waves…
like staring
through a mirage
afraid to blink
for fear of
disappearance.





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