I like the quietness of the kitchen
very late at night, when I am almost

the last one awake. I put away dishes
and wipe down the counter. I sit

at the table to finish the coffee
that remains in my cup, making

lists for what I still need to do
in the morning until I realize

it is already morning.
The clock continues its steady

parcelling out of the hours: not
doubling forward, not going back.

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