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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