A Prison Dream

There are those of us who live
in prison. I can't remember
my crime or trial but I have
been here longer than it takes
a heart to slip into nothingness.
Through a small stone window,
lights of ships, the yellow
sulfur rises. I can hear
the bells and sirens singing
from the heaving waters.
Each night, I dream I am a plain
grey moth flutters through
the opened stone into the cold
and salty air. And instantly,
snatched wholly by a seagull.

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