Ninety-five: Shadows

Sitting in a garden of shadows.
Staring at a garden of stars.
Hoping I don’t wish upon a satellite.
Surrounded by Egyptian goddesses I
don’t stare.

I suspect you’re going to be late but
I’m too busy drinking the night to care.
I feel the breeze of the moth’s wing,
winking too quickly for understanding.

I wonder how much I understand
and I want to say
Forgive me
Before I do anything that needs to be forgiven.

Beasts break branches in the darkness but
I’m not scared.
For the first time,
I’m not scared.

(Well, maybe a little.)


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I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

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