She is a walking open wound,

a portal to older realms where poet philosophers man the healm.

She is a broken bough,

an open bow,

a courtsey to unseen couriers long off stage right.

It is 3 hours plus into the longest night.

I stare at a starlight sky and inhale saline while i blink my eyes at the streaks and sparklets.

My heart longs to be sailing, but i can barely stand on dry land as it is.

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