A memory made of light

I lived in exile,
ranging from black to white.
A poet’s words kicked around.
I hoped you’d all miss
me after a while.
But there was no milkman
of human kindness.
There was no soul
breathing in the stillness.
From this pain, I could not flee.
And then, a love and
a refuge appeared.
Put together end to end,
like the lily and the water.
Blue shadows for a striving heart.
And the nearest thing
to being alive.

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