It happens as the eyes expand,
these slits of time, un-focus,
as everything grows winking,
or magically comes, half alive.
And it isn’t quite really, quite truly,
inhuman, morose, or unclean,
more the fusion of nothing and wind
pooling up into empty, a place.
While we wait for a brighter magician,
in a land far away or a dream
to light up the page with illusion,
and another of yesterday’s suns.
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