i captured a sliver of the moon
on the tip of my tongue
a tiny thousand fireflies,
between steamy puffs
of burning lungs,
a shimmering.
i stood alone, long—
a still silhouette
under a crying streetlight,
a witness to the dying of the stars,
to the rebirth of my own body,
to coming alive again.
~j. avellana hongo, 2020
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