This is me at the window looking in/out

Was the end supposed to be

a pantsless, snack-heavy groaning board

full of clear skies?

Because I’m standing at my window,

singing a sorrowful song to the rising moon

and yet I feel relieved.

There’s not much to be afraid of

when you see the sun’s dust,

the night’s stars,

and your own hands

for what they are: empty.

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