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Britain Rodriguez



what fleeting light

made wary, the perilous plunge

through dim sky thoughts weaken 

made to become brittle 

ceasing, infertile, becoming 

grace of light, and call it profound 

the light of a train in a dark tunnel

a consolation for those who are

unaware of the tunnel’s dimensions 

to the left, get hit

to the right, get hit

and to whom do I owe?

Life’s architect, god, the creator 

Which I call me, tempest, human.


And it ceases, like all things

The train passes with me

And I no longer see its light

And I know no longer

That fleeting light 



watched the flame lap up what’s left

a house twice burnt 

a tomb well built

enamored by its flesh, its toil

bone, brawn, not enough.

a home built for living

but living is not enough

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