I sit on the porch,
dangling at the tip
of a humdrum afternoon
I cling for dear life on the
edge of an espresso cup
I flex my thoughts
I stretch and bend
like the light in my eyes
and learn physics by osmosis
beneath the glaring gloom of the sun
Where does the day go, I wonder—
where does it hide—
when night throws it asunder?
Do the scattered pieces run for cover
when the moon’s iron fist appears?
Shall I retreat inside when evening falls,
shroud my mirrors with black curtains,
to mourn the death of the day?
A day that will not missed, after all