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Between pillars of forgetting,
swaying from
tightly wound secrets
loosed by wine
to music, swirling madly
like a flood across
my flickering consciousness
of sleepless nights
laid end to end,
my hammock of stars
carried my thoughts
in its pendulum rhythm.
Momentarily taken,
I close my eyes and
catch a glimpse of a poem—
the way loving you is a poem,
beautiful and lit
in that swift darkness
of my closed eyes,
a jewel inside a dream
that is, if you can dream
inside a moment.
I open them,
and return to the party
whose too-real details
have me cornered
in all my quantum translucence
and this is not the time
to be chasing beautiful things
but I promise to try tomorrow
to remember how that poem went,
and write down as much of it
as I can recover from the noise.

“January Sun” by photographer Anastasia Volkova