but it was not enough
to swallow the serpent & end the story here
leather-bound book & sky emptied
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—
& a moon wishing, just once,
to shine its own perfect light.
originally published in ditch, January 2014
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