Another poem to share with you

It is never three in the morning when i dream. It is autumn, or my birthday or time to go. It is a funeral attended by my grandfather. Some old friends. And overrun by ants. It is a revelation. A reckoning. An unexpected turn of phrase that returns me to three in the morning, to awareness, and to you. And only then can i finally close my eyes and return to autumn, to a funeral. To this.

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