the room we built
so carefully,
brick by brick,
close enough that
ignorance might
pluck it
from the ethereal void
—or
from the stunned
silence
that void evokes, muting
the tidal beating
of our collective
hearts—
something exists
that we do not
expect, a glistening
shadow of urgency.
Will it trickle,
thick and languid,
into the light
of day? Or
shall we gallop toward it,
seize it, brandish it
in one vast roaring surge,
so that we may know
ourselves to be alive?
(c) 2017, by Hannah Six
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