Moonlight on the Bonsai in the Lounge

On a late Monday evening I am awaiting mushrooms to grow in Venice by morning, and for the rest of the night the bonsai in the lounge can bathe in moonlight.

There are mosaics somewhere in the distance, whitewashed in time. Maybe paving the way to the box that I never had to crawl out of because it never existed.
I would like to say: That is what night does to you, but night is only a process to purify the soul (from the seemingly natural brain drain every day).

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