How long ago was
Anything that was
Not the property
Of the invaders
Already? The light
In the sky that night,
How deformed was it?
The burning candle
Gifted from the thrift
Store in the dying
Segment of downtown,
How nubbly was it
Around the black wick
You lit and blew out
In it? This nonsense
With the beginning
Of the temporal,
Rhythmic, circular?
The sky turned orange
And a neighbor said,
That’s it, but no.
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