My zone

Like a panoramic balcony

Or a fast black bike,

My zone fits me.

Pins my feet down and my fingers up,

While my thoughts travel and evolve

Planning my version of my future.

It has a fresh breeze

Even when indoor

And always has a START sign.

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Tired hands

Refill these hands

That worked hard and bled today

To add beauty and respect

To old clothes.

Hands not smooth and not shy

That travel quick through the stitches

And join the borders of a hot Sunday.

Give them water, a shake, and a rest

In your lap

Until fresh again.