Shine

By Robert Gould

Bowls in the road
catch water – then light.
Purging though darkness,
marking the season.

Pulsating ideals
leave warmth in the cold,
lit brightly and bold
are the men who refuse it.

I knew a girl who caught light everyday.

Shining not for her beauty
but for a mistake.
She watched it shift weight
in a manner most primal.

A violet veneer
now wisened her eye.

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