Heavenly Light

Each time I turn on my closet switch,
there is a burst of heavenly light.
Surrounded in the glow
is a dead cockroach,
illuminated in a halo.
Passed on before this closet
was deemed mine
it sits in the glass
and watches
as I curl up on the floor
to read,
it watches as I choose my clothes
and as I hide my treasures,
it watches me no matter what I do,
measure for measure.
Its insides have dried up
or been eaten out by spiders,
the dried leaf husk
and content
in an eternal wake
until a soul braver than I
shall disturb its resting place.


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