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It was fortunate,
that night,
that the moon was eaten raw.
In the garden,
light's claws
did not pick at my skin.

And again,
I set my eyes
against the glow of windowpanes.
The wind
looked for oceans
in the cupped shells of my ears.

I scanned
along the sky
for a door that wasn't there;
a rip,
a tear;
a hole to fill me up.

My hand was forced
with this absence
of a breach.
To rip,
and tear;
cut a hole to drain me out,

to fold
my mind and body
through the the needle of an eye.
It was fortunate,
that night,
that the moon was eaten raw.
Outside it was quite dark...
:iconnoenaemae:
noenaemae Featured By Owner Sep 1, 2005
nice imagery....i can read this over and over again.
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June 29, 2005
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