Think of this: Night
always ends.
Air that settles like
fear,
heavy and wet,
into empty
places
rises again in daylight.
Morning glories uncover
faces
hid from the dark, and
songs the birds
banished
at sunset
return home to clearings
at dawn.
Listen! Even before morning,
wizards sing in ashen
trees
waking peach blossoms and
green-gold hedgerows.
Day returns.
Where are your eyes?
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