The Sweet, Great

Once, I wrote: the sweet, great
heartbreak remains. Past years,

past thoughts like wild flowers
choked in tall grasses, weeds,

still the heartbreak, the secret
weeping. Even that strange blue

light ahead offers no reprieve.
Now I write: the stars are guilty,

the moon conspires towards my grief,
wings of moths beat against my window,

endlessly, are messengers of sweet.

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