outside, the sky is recalling
its children. these are the bulbs of light turned on and off through the night, the ghost lamps of theatres obscured only by the tribune as you open the door to peer in.
undeterred by time, nightfall, in its daily quarantine, has named each of them. do you recognise the feeling when forgotten cousins materialise in batches at a gathering? to have erased every relation (who’s whose brother? second…
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