Afterthought

if night was not blinding,
my dreams and nightmares
were not exactly alike,
teeming with shadows,
of past and distant,

if sheltered under the eaves,
i were, careless, unafraid,

had i not raised my fist,
semper paratus,
in-spite of these,

few drops,
of rain that opened the sky,
would glint in my palms.

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