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Zack Moy
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Poetry1 min read

Sunlight is often too shy a friend.
I only bump into her when I’m about to run
inside a brick building, late for a meeting.
Maybe she’s just avoiding me.

I sprint through the lobby catching
flashes of her majesty
like heaven’s strobe-light.

She wears a crown of copper.
No better than the penny I wish
I could defenestrate.

Passersby mimic these
sun-scarred windows
with their melancholy

melanoma like iridescent jewelry,
as if proud of the sun’s unnecessary
and unexpected gift this morning.

They flaunt affection but I finally
see the sun after sixty stories of stairs.
This is my friendship.
This is my unexpected gift.

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