in this black sky there is
no passion fruit to pluck
off the night’s branch
no floating pearl in the
dark sea to reach for
perhaps tonight he’s at his second job
the pagan god of misery
a blemish on the skin of ignorance
a puncture on God’s great body
bleeding light
just when my desire seems immovable
heaven slips some wind under
my wings pours wine into
my mouth and cheers
with angelic shouts
my launched flight
of hope
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