conditioned to let us alone
leave us to our own light
which we burn off of memory
a lonely bench appears
beneath a ring of trees with no eyes
no one watches us here
no one asks for a light
a streetlight turns on
electric baby in a crib
of steel, half moon sleeping
look away and it turns orange
and so i often look away from it
a change seems natural
but look how it glows
when we aren't coming back
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