by Joseph Ceravolo
The sun disappears behind hills,
a white light still remains.
No pink or red or orange
with tight purple streaks,
through a white cloud.
I suddenly feel
we can never be destroyed,
but I know otherwise.
It's only a daydream
an overwhelming breeze
a constriction that I can't see
opening up in the heart
on a warm evening.
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Last updated October 03, 2022