Moiety

A poem for a good friend on his birthday.

Allow who you wish to be
to dance
with who are.

Let fantasy
and reality
coincide in a way
that dazzles anyone
and everyone
who attempts
to find
the crease.

Let the choreographer
in you
fall in love
with her audience,

Let the elm tree
—fearful, unmoving—
be windswept
at last,

Let the young man
greet the daybreak
with a kiss
so crowded with longing
it could shatter even
the fugitive shame
of a yet
dreamless
sleep.

The End

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