Evening comes with a single thread

of moonlight, not wanting or wasteful,

like a whisper and with it, my inclusion,

as if knowing without being told,

I, too, am part of this world.

Part of some medical act, created

perhaps in a basement with a chemistry

set.  I circle and I stand there bubbling

over with health.  One moment I'm happy,

the next I'm sick and going to die.

Everyone has their own theory.  Smoke

hangs in the air and my heart, with

or without wisdom, beats appropriately.

Some call it a tragedy.

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