Sometimes a pearly brightness outlines each dusty blade of the blinds, deep in the night, as though from a floodlight. Of course it's only the moon, which cycles again from its first slivered form to this fullness—even if you remain asleep, it sieves through darkness the way a feeling like happiness might touch everything in its way; the way a fever runs its course and finally breaks.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.