It reopened as I was laughing.
Longer shadows might have told the difference
between sunset and spectral paralysis.
Our better returns and a child in the act of trust.

Map and calendar, the same compact disc
repeated one night almost until dawn,
red LED lights fluttering in the dark
candling the signatures of one woman.
How far out will I forget this?

Never doubt that love is negatively defined.
Never doubt that time the bulldozer
uproots deepest when parked still at the shade’s edge.

In one version, where Latin music
strums the dark nearly till daybreak,
the surfaces of life give
easily, at the slightest touch.
At times this is something best forgotten,
candling to the tune of our better returns.

The unmistakeable, sidereal smoke of it
coiled and hangs.
As I was laughing paralyzed the moment saw
the true underwheel of dawn,
its filament a moth’s wings.