Late at night
it gets so hollow–
the stars precise,
nearly clinical,
the silence of it all
silencing all.
So now
we’ve learned
it’s possible
to choke
on open air
this cold–
it leaves
a bitter taste,
and once again
open space
is not the end all be
all that I always
expect,
having failed
to differentiate
the land
from the promise
we’ve attached.
OPTIONAL POETRY 
pace and word play
LikeLike
are useful when attempting to write a poem a day!
LikeLiked by 1 person
This one’s special.
LikeLike
Thanks! I almost felt like issuing a disclaimer for some of these, that everything is mostly fine, just it’s the end of the quarter and my stack of grading is *this* high….
LikeLiked by 1 person