Opossum, My Possum

A fat opossum sat upon a chain-link fence at dawn,

placidly gazing into nothingness and relishing the quiet of solitude.

His pink and balding tail hung frayed like tattered string,

and his undulating spine arched high above his sunken shoulders,

rising and falling as his lungs laboured to breathe.

The hairs upon his frail back were soiled and knotted skeins,

though each remained sufficiently sleek

and shone beneath the moonlight like tarnished steel wool.

And as I pondered the opossum’s fixated stare

and scoured the skyline for reason,

I began to understand his persistence and the futility of wandering in the dark,

and I hurriedly climbed the fence to join him.

And there in the distance, the sun began to rise,

scorching night’s curtains in piecemeal fashion as if to test my perseverance

and the sincerity of my desire to receive new light.

And as I practiced patience and sought unveiled horizons,

the clouds were set ablaze,

routing the lingering blackness

and melting my thoughts of yesterday.

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