Elbow-deep in ink, seeking for those nostalgic ornaments I can’t toss out but think I might. I left them buried in the safe black in case of need but now they just won’t come to my hand. Surely they know I’m only seeking them to cast them aside. It doesn’t matter how gently I call them by their secret names.
Only at night do they creep out and leave tiny black ant tracks across my collar bone. And my sleep is made restless by them. Some nights I stand guard in the dark until I hear the carolling morning bird and all is a pale blue peace and now! Now it is safe to sleep.

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