I am the night,
a virgin,
turning back the clock
hoping to find God
before it’s too late.
I have made a vocation of it.
Sitting at bus stops,
waiting in trains,
always searching
for what I once knew so easily.
Across the hall,
the music plays
a symphony to my bones.
But where is he?
Chasing kites?
Or dragging s stick along the shore,
leaving a trailed message in the sand
no one can decipher?
Perhaps he is in the trees,
changing leaves from green to gold
or bruising squirrels with acorns.
I do not know.
Tell me anything.
It is virtually guaranteed,
I will soon forget.
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