The Muse says:
"In astringent air of the night,
I, a child forever,
flick on the lock of
mini-chandeliers
that stay in the margin
and transform
to glimmers in origami,
so stars dive into time
from their tiny glare.
If an uncharitable darkness
sifting through your sorrows
oscillates like a hologram,
I stumble into storage rooms
of creaking wood,
minor misdeeds,
and tainted faults,
to flip on
the circuit breaker.
And when the curl of the moon
is wounded
by the contrails of your lifetime,
in configuration,
I come after you
under the veil of a poem
to tell the truth."
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