great between
in the great between, we're dreamers.
the universe our shell, slowly cracking under the weight
of what Must, and, inevitably, of what Does.
like some kind of star séance, swirling beneath our feet,
murmuring stories of past, present, premonitions.
each outliving the last, each true, each caving in
until it cannot be possible, predictable, or profound.
again, space lacks meaning. and we let our hair down.
roll beads of sweat into boulders to sit on,
sigh and slip into children again, waiting patiently
for a goodnight comet to fall through the sky.
8-23-24
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