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The one moon slants through shutters, sliced
with shadows, and in the dark my cigarette's
a malevolent star; the galaxy: a gnat's
dance ordered by emptiness. What night's
for: burning in darkness. A toss of dice
contains the arranged chaos; everything gets
the juggler's attention, though he sometimes lets
everything fall in slatted dark and light.
I could open these shutters, let in stars
to ghost about the room, erase the marks.
But still, the moon's a zero, reflected gaze
whose random light and shadowed bars
cage the room. Midnight sorrow stays
like a sparrow falling unnoticed in the dark.

      — Sharon Kourous