lights dimming
and the world purrs in sync
with the sun's descent
remember the quiet days,
a darkness richer than soil
calling for the soles of your feet
to sink in deep-
what is there to do with all this night?
it barely fits in the palm of my hand,
in the spark of my synapses
I cross the days and think of nothing
as a closing of eyes,
famished for silence,
blooms in the heart of the earth
and makes its way towards the light
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