a thing to be the thriving
bug in the garage once
autumn has come.
They hear me
chirp
and chirrup,
but I cannot be found.
I cry
out in the night,
in the dark, come for me,
touch me.
Hold me so that my voice might turn
quiet,
that I go the way of my kind,
out there,
in the world of rain & wind,
so that heaviness
might
take me away from
this hole in the ground
And bring me to something
better.
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