some nights i lose sight of magic.
instead, seek out cuts of ordinary to wish into

find myself holding teacups
broken lockets
to my lips

take them with me to the back door
to the patch of dahlias by the highway
to the dusty edge of the city limits

feel the kingdom of a silent, starry, mortal sky
press into the last few fissures

and whisper

please tell me i can get through this.

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