Too Many Lightning Bolts in the Sky

The horizon spread out, lazily
Feeling very natural
And at ease with the current state of things

Flickering fingers descended from the inside
Of a dark hat
Making it hard to decide
Which trees to prioritize
Which bushes to burn

Despite never caring, no hierarchy was created
Even as the fingers sent their messages across space
The alcoves received celestial hands
Only to send out their own fingers
From the slush of old veins and bone

Only one more hour until
The pale disk dominated the sky
Making the play of hands fade into a velvet stream

 

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