-I sit in the dearth of night as the silence
wails in my ears, the sun rising gently,
its rays cascading in their violent thrust
against the naked windowpanes.
My eye’s squirm in the light’s exposure,
armor fallen; solitude has been stolen.
Headlamps fade under the sun,
store fronts light up with life. My eyelids,
heavy, droop, in their struggle
against the day’s awareness. We remain,
eyes, eyelids and I, ash like fixtures of silence,
solitude and struggle; night. My head, heavy,
cannot conceive of clarity. My eyes begin to water,
reddened by the newborn light.
The body must continue, even as it feels
the strain of life. A heavy gift of a burden with
perhaps other gifts that find their freedom
most at night, when life has faded into memory
and only shadows remain.
Perhaps I would be happiest as a shadow,
as so often I liken myself to them,
invisible until noticed
and even then, no more present.
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