it may have been a mistake
to write all night.
Now, after work,
I am home,
prone,
only one eye open,
like a sleeping dolphin
guarding against poems
amassing and passing
without a “welcome in!”
“who goes there?”
without an offer
of friendship or curiosity,
depending on what temper,
what splendor,
one eye open reveals!
A pod of herring?
A passing sail boat off the fluke?
A shark marauding?
A magical masterpiece?
Now I must be dreaming.
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