Vigil
Midnight, faced again,
after failing once more to let yesterday go,
feels familiar—
like a night’s shadow resting,
its hands heavy with darkness.
Stung by the hard glare of a streetlight,
my shadow—myself—stretches out
and deliberately rummages through
bitter memories
blooming like pale gourd flowers.
The long night should leave
only after shaking loose its faded past,
yet my shadow keeps searching,
not ready
to let it pass.
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