At the glass (May 11)

Not for the first time these
fragments leech from your hand
leaking through darkened grates
forgotten in murky traps

where that first spit-shock smack
of invading mint against your tongue
sets in motion a dozen night-lamps
clicked to dark, launching

countless nocturnal journeys
back to first night, bordered by
permanent hum of pulsating
electrical breeze that amplifies

your tick-tock inhalations
metronomic rise and fall
teasing out the timeless hours
before another fading fragment.

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