Tuesday, May 28, 2024

Night Walk

The moon, which has long been my confidant,

has grown tired of my wistfulness and my complaints.
A faint afterglow on the horizon—a light 

like distant sea waves—surges and recedes

into shadow, into oblivion. I look at the dizzying immensity,

the panorama of stars, with its circus/menagerie

of constellations, and think: The universe is a glass house.

One slip of the foundation, and all comes crashing down.

Meanwhile, crows caw overhead, their beaks bloody

with the flesh of some nameless dead.

 

 

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