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in these quiet small hours of the night
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After he’d gone to sleep,
she stared at the blank space
between his shoulder blades,
and she saw swirling galaxies
of thousands of nameless stars
bursting to be discovered.
Sometimes she wished him
a brave explorer, a curious
poet, a hopeless romantic.
Sometimes, deep into the night
when she couldn’t fall asleep
she wished him someone else.
Now I have the same
look in my eyes as
my mother once had
the ancient sadness
that I never thought
would become mine.