Open the Box

You have a pocket

tucked with sunlight

bright finger rays 

on a melancholy day.

 

A box of songs

I’ve never heard

winter jasmine notes

pale flower words.

 

The moon you say

I see a knife that

silvers the sky.

You become the 

moon I see by.

 

Let me in to softer light

and melodies that

weep the names of stars.

 

Open the box yourself

you say in your great grace.

 

These songs are yours.

You know where the sun goes.

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