There is a house, no tumbledown shack
that in the woods pours forth
with lights like golden fires
not burning but simmer softly
if soft can be untouchable
and illuminating memories
in every room
painful and unreachable
because they are dead
or at least quiet
unlike the city
with its fires
not lights that conserve
as is the style and same humanity
but energy burning
energy in thought
and thoughtless making
of painful memories
like flickering sparks produced
fly bravely in struggles
not so different from stars
but able to be forgotten
if left unembarrassed
and scarred
within the four golden lit walls
that were built both before
and after
but really light spills out
and leaves a vacuum
of inexpressible loss
here in this floor and roof contraption
of the past and unfolding regret
dark is created
by the enclosing structures
that shield away from dark
and both allow illumination
so it is lightening pain
or deafening darkness
let me have my shadows
why, oh why, is the sky so far away
oh, firefly city
sleep on in ignorance
to not feel the agony
that is now before me
in this cold seasonal slumbering death
not any more painful when someone knocks
as past is passed and cannot be foregone
only shut out by blindness
that is now destroyed
by a switch of mechanical invention
has become a psychological trigger
that in this skin I must face
until I can shift away in the forest
that hides also this house of recollections
and run from these golden fire squares
casting their light into the trees
only ghosts of memories
that I can handle
for I’ve already forgotten in that form
which I now maintain
under the star net sky


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