Still, I Like My Life….

There is a door to the lonesome,

You get used to it,

Get used to everything—

Dust in the corners,

Old medicine jars,

A broken bicycle,

What not, hearing

Far laughter.

Finally one figures

Wakefulness and dream

Are just the rain.

O happy birthday!

Here’s something

You forgot long ago,

Your splinter of sunlight.

 

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