In Umbra

it’s the hours you have
to practice being dead
 
your ears fingering the air
for any feathered scratch

it is how you starve 
for a candle’s 
sweet, close company
a conversation 

with its light interrupted 
by coughing shadow

until the wisps
drift quietly away

the new darkness 
invites you to open 

your eyes to the 
deep earth above

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Friday 202: What I love about the dark