The Figurant

Here we are, dear reader
You and me, 
alone in this communion

How strange we’ve never met 
like this at least
How nice it is, at last, to look 
down on the stars together

Now I ask you to consider 
what it would have meant
if through all those little windows
it was light that heaven sent. 

Or pixels on your screen  
Or words on a page
Or notes on a score, 
so tell me
Even though we never met
Does that weigh less, 
Or more? 

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