Light’s Soiree

Thin, blue line of pain
Like flame,
Dancing.
What we have is a house of
Unrequited fury.
What we have is a box with two air holes.
What we have is a magician’s playing cards.

Cascading grief rinses me. Time has been crabwalking away from me drunkenly for decades.

My invitation to Light’s soiree was lost in the mail.