I sometimes wonder

if a god, the universe (whatever)

can see me

tucked away in the corner of a library

a small light in the dusk of infinity

waiting to be switched off

wandering stacks of words I’ll mostly never read

     standing before a shrine to a civic leader

     his desk lovingly preserved from the day he died

asking myself what I’ve done

to win this lottery of existence

     curse its finitude

     and weigh my contributions

          like an Egyptian deity holding a scale

          hoping to feed my heart to something with scales

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