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  • Writer's pictureJan Avellana

i stood alone, long

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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