Midnight music dances about
My ears, while light-years above
Myriads of stars turn my
Memories to a pale reflection.
Of love unrequited.
Oranges, reds, blues, greens;
Or maybe it's a pitch cloak
On some prodigious lamp.
Low, pale clouds follow obediently,
Leaning into the wind. Maybe
Living with grief means
Learning how to love you again.
10.11.1989
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