what a poet gets paid

upon encountering each other,
neighbor bob and i say at the same slow time
here comes trouble
in stereo as we step in to hug
what a poet gets paid? i ask trish
holding up the peanut butter cups
and, upon approval, dropping them into my tote bag
thick with moonlessness
the night has me fumbling
to find the path
how some nights are light the candle nights
not switch on a lightbulb nights
and tonight
is one of the former and i like
thinking about the flame flicker as seen
from the outside
by someone walking past

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