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