the night sky leans into me
all day battered through with arguments
and love underneath, sore but proud
what will tomorrow take
and what are we ready to lose
there is no question of willing
in the noise of the looters' scrabble
those questions flew
lay us down in close quarters
to save something for tomorrow
the weaponry the space
to pull or invade or ignore
will wait for us to wake and rise
to shake ourselves from one another
to change our minds about the night we spent
and run the day bluntly through again
june 1, 11
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