Here in the North
we turn toward deeper
darkness. Tonight’s thin moonhides itself in clouds
withholding snow. Our stars
are curtained. No light fallson my skin. It does not
touch me. I cannot
feel it. I lie aloneon this high, hard bed.
Night follows night.
I watch for the moonout these frosted windows,
listen to the silence
of winter. Trains pass by,their rattling wheels, their
mournful call, taking someone
somewhere. Where are you?Do you see this moon
in your strange sky?
Can you name the stars?
This week’s prompt was a road sign:
THIS IS NOT
STATE ROUTE 95

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