I am a million eyes from home,

walking like a Moon-ensnared Sunbeam

on his way through the Sky, Westward,

but originating East. 

I've got my coffee grounds,

my sunglasses, my flowers. 

I'm a thousand Suns who died,

were resurrected, brought to life. 

I think of you sometimes. 

Mostly thoughts encircle me

like vultures in the Sky,

when the Sun achieves dominion

and I am baked in the sands of hollow laughter. 

What is this between us if not

joy's divisive quality given arena

to wreak havoc of Stars?

I am a million eyes.

I'm home. 



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Endless Writer © Ata Zargarof 2020


BC, Canada