penstroke light
burnt out by a sun
crevassing the gaps and into the voids
making heat register the space above us
which we tend to otherwise ignore.

I rely on the drapes too much
and stare across nearby rooftops,
across the cityscape underlining
the Western sky where diffused clouds
give sunlight — give it trillions
of vaporous stages to beam from.
between the window frame and
the drape rail, the billowed sun-beacons
terrorize my retina, and I look
back down at my computer.

penstroke light
burnt out by a sun
swiping red across my keyboard
as my gaze covers them incompletely.
bleed on us, they say.
let
it out.

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