bottles of oxygen in the wine cellar
they come to the door
and ring the bell
they are the uninvited ones
I sit in the corner chair
off-white insulated curtains drawn
the bulb of the table lamp
barely buzzing
the brightless ones move on
but I suspect
they’ll return again
more capable of interaction
the next time around
turning off the light
I nod off in near silence
a dimly lit moon rising
whispering something sweet
into my ear
promising to awaken me
as always
january two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
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