Jasmine Blooms at Night

By Emily   

Superficial tables
give an old, dead woman
a place to strategize
because heaven has a hostage
and the mourning men are dizzy, dreamy,
and saying things like,
God painted outside the lines.
And as I listen to them, I remember
all of the pictures of blue moons I've scoured,
and the messages I've thrown
into storms I've started.
And the scaffolding swings in the air slightly,
like I narrowly escaped
something I can't be.
Because I know that
invisibility is more dangerous
than an enviable fate,
until a telepathic tells me to follow him.
And I forsake the eternity of tomorrow
to give the stars a hug.

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