An invisible mist hangs

over Tuesday afternoons

where cars zoom by unaware

in their rush to reach death

I crawl over bloated hours as

the swell of a cello on the stereo

causes trees to mourn their stillborn children

The evening seems more pleasing

with its absinthe and mystery,

the indiscriminate twilight with its arms open wide,

the news hour with its tales of murder

while a cat sits on my lap and purrs