A Year of Poems – Day 335

Black night as deep as imagination
Before time shone in and dried up the place.
Back then even puddles were the stations
where we departed to the edge of space;
flecks of asphalt and drops of water laced
our sight. We soared in self abnegation
to stars and planets with pure elation
red boots tossed up mud in a warm embrace.
Darkness today is sought with a flashlight,
a mirror styled as an unknown portal,
arguments over what is known as right.
Coruscating robes of ferns drink, fertile
from those puddles still unfathomed by light
each drop an essay on being mortal.


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