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Writer's pictureDarkling Thrushes

Virgos' Dust

Several constellations winked to brass light, 

On the roofs, they could be seen by telescope. 

In certain settings shadows of planets, 

It could be seen against the candle’s glow. 

 

Spacemen are going down and coming up, 

Escalators through glass ceilings at the mall. 

But she cares not what their dials say, or 

If the stars exist at all, or if night is bonfires. 

 

For caught was she, in the net of butterflies, 

And before lunch was writing lines of truth, 

On a blackboard.  Virgo went supernova 

Ten years ago, but no one saw her turn to dust. 

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