In the middle of a great sea
of people I want to recede
into the flickering of one
The amber in a faceted glass
throws off light: alternately it sings
of ash and dusk-skinned fruit. What
were you saying again about clarity?
When the doors opened, I hailed you
by name. As you turned, the frames
of your glasses snagged random
filaments of neon.
Do you have an extra coin? Time
is that period between markers,
is still what ticks between
the increments we’ve paid for.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.