2:31 Am, Portland
It’s windy eve,
inside is free
of the wind but
not pithy peeves:
heaven’s thousand
eyes clouded
by lights
although the sun
-rise clouded
delights.
against cities,
(all like-fashioned):
moon’s bow stretches
dim sky lashes.
in walls is warmth
confinement,
anger
the winds withhold
comfort not
wonder
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