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Summoning the Night Summoning the Night Under the night, under the self-made waves of waking dreams the earth is invisible and I am counting the heartbeats till that crystal theater, that quasi-self, that shadow-life, that demi-death, that angel, that sleep. Destroy me again, sleep! Blade that cuts these ever-raveling threads, mother of spirits, gathering the romping souls to return them to their chosen bodies, night within a night, remind me why there is a night. The performance has ended, crowds scatter, worlds await: silken walls that don’t own me, commit me to nothing, judge nothing. Strong as myrrh, soft as secret love, these lavender fields at the end of sweat-forged rows, where a lone bird takes a sip of the sky, I see in sparks, cruel fireflies that singe the vaccum then exhale before I think to grasp them. I plunge from a cliff, never touching the earth, passing sky after sky, each one thinner than the last, stars underfoot. And behind me, is my last thought before darkness, and heaven somewhere between. Patricia Joan Jones © patriciajj1 - all rights reserved. |
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