it's the bright beam, crossbeams from nowhere that's taking the edge
off the stars
I see it sometimes and like a thunderstorm it clears the air
it gives me hope something else is going on somewhere
outside the office walls and cubicles
far from the schoolroom's yards
some seasons I see it nightly from my yard
as though a new shopping center had opened in the galaxy
and was trying to draw in the crowds
I wonder what they sell there I whisper to the evening.
if they sell a ticket Out
could they drop it from a cloud?
mary angela douglas 6 january 2022;29 january 2022
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