November
out the window a field of glowing bulbs
I blur my eyes and they expand and stain
leaving bright rings
clusters of warm.
this deep into night they are comforting.
old words tickle my finger tips.
they are so rich
they make my stomach hurt.
i collect them and keep them in a box.
now i find it hard to breath,
my heart is so swollen.
it gets softer with age and glows when I blur my eyes.
maybe it's a sun.
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