Petals
Petals on the ground like snowflakes discarded by the sky and turned pink like the ruin of a thousand thoughts that blossom and dwell on the bones in the air of a hundred rainless nights avoiding the sun and the hammer then falling with the first flick of wind The errant journey of a night mouse to climb higher and see something so vast it feels like infinity but we know the boundaries We know the measure of this lair and the length of dispair until that rain falls on us and we fall like snow to litter the ground with something of beauty we had to discard to grow
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Programming note: The title of this substack has changed to The Night Office, which is a reference to the silent, solitary hours after midnight and before dawn.