I became best friends with midnight.
Even the subsequent hours were
As wide awake as my wide-eyed owl face.
Like it's some kind of bad juju
To pluck;
An owl's feathers.
I trace branches
Onto the ceiling
Of a tree, I had hoped to perch upon.
Roots of ancestral blood
Trickling down toward talons
That do a better job painting solitude
Than catching mice.
Dusk turns to dawn.
A time to cry a final cry,
But I don't.
I'll just have to try again,
Tomorrow.
- Gilberto Alvarado
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