Ambassador Trudging
by Rikki Santer
You open the door
of every morning
to suffer the law
of falling bodies
a tiny index
on each sleeve as you
trudge through the husks
of day into too many
conferences of sorrow
too many attempts to conjure
breath from cypress knees.
At night a lone firefly stutters
its way across the belly
of dark until a thread
of phosphorous takes flight
and your valley shimmers
with sleepless chaos, rotating
rotating towards morning.
Gyroscope Review 53
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