UNTITLED TYPEWRITER POEM NO. SIX

6

For the first time in quite some time,
in order to humble myself,
I watched the rising of the sun
and I could only imagine the women
who lie under that very light—
who share an unquestioned glow
with the moon—
who share this star with me.

I had forgotten how quickly the sun rises.
The day was only six hours into its life
and I was blinded.

That’s my star,
though.
Our star, really.
That is,
if you want it.
I didn’t light it up for you,
but you can blow us out.
Inhale.
Now choose.

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