It edges around the corner of my eye
nudging gently
asking me to allow.
I smile and wonder, what next?
What gift? What fantasy?
What pain to be addressed
that I have left too long on simmer;
Until it has boiled dry and burnt the pot;
Until it sings, blackens, roars, cracks;
Until an angel, happening to pass by, hears it;
Until he comes
Edging around the corner of my eye
nudging gently
asking me to allow.
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