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Letter
When reading, words flash; individual lighthouses dividing light and dark
For all to see
Poe and Tolkien, fiction alight; they make the air buzz and glaciers in flight
For all to see
Salmonella and the Black Death, cries of anguish and itches in the gut that
We can’t scratch
Thinking of distractions to pour over at night; learning long codes of honor that
We can’t comprehend
But when the night is lit, in thousands of gossamer strands flitting through the conscience, we see the words; and we realize that the line is thin
But when the night is dark, the line is gone, and we do what we want
It wasn’t too bad to light up the night, but I just didn’t want to see a line,
No matter how fragile and translucent; fortunately, the ground was opaque, or I would have fallen through
Which doesn’t sound that bad; now it rolls of the tongue.
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