the shadows of branches
rest heavy on window sills,
the beam of a streetlight
comes to rest on an eye.

there is little that can be done.

arise, sleepless one, arise!

there is so much to think
about in these smallish,
tired, vengeful hours.

so many errors,
so great a penance
to be paid.

and,
there is all night
to pay it.

*

-JBClaywell
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