lingering past the evening
I see myself in the dirt
believing if it would only rain
I would somehow become
born again
there isn’t much left
that hasn’t already been said
therefore I sit in silence in the parlor
transitioning into dark mode
I never see myself alone
though at times I talk to myself
believing someone nearby is listening
at the top of the hour
the lamp in the corner turns on
all by itself
a sign of these technological times
casting shadows
& giving refuge
to whatever exists
in the far corners of my world
july two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
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