chimeless at midnight burn the stars
the latitude of who you are,
faultless meridians.
being or seeming up for grabs
pinata creaming or subject to labs
to pluck at your harplike brain
the bats have come so far
out of the temples and into the rains
sift the wheat but not the grain
take what is offered or
cry to God on high
I only want to live until I die
and then in the jeweled rains
to know, You are nigh.
mary angela douglas 22 june 2023
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