Will I be light again?
I asked if I burned out the current.
You gave no answer.
Have you had enough of the sun?
It is always there, you know.
I don’t know what streaks of light reach you
where you like to go,
if they cut through the blue
like devoted arms seeking you
deep in another world.
I imagine if I reminisce,
my bones could become stone,
polished with sharpened grief, fortified,
my heavy skeleton a tomb you don’t visit.
Do you ever think of me?
And if you do, If I knew
I would want to be
the quiet glow in the street lamps
when the day ends where you like to go,
far away in another world.
*******************************
Eh, I tried.
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