edge

but it was not enough
to swallow the serpent & end the story here

leather-bound book & sky emptied
of light

a grave dug out, glass prism-prison,
chained to the edge, grass matted & dead

unlit, unholy, holding
an umbrella & still wet from the rain,

two stars reach out
to brush each other
—flicks of light, soft as finger tips—
& detonate

& a moon wishing, just once,
to shine its own perfect light.

originally published in ditch, January 2014

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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