As of Late

My mind (as of late),
is so many still and quiet
thoughts and strange
how many I find
you fill always
on the peripherals,
coming forward
and then receding,
as though a pulsating
star nearly
a billion light years
away it would take
to reach the source,
surrounded
in a silver strobe,
a beating pulse,
the room; light, then dark,
your face; there, then gone,
but not.

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