As the sun sets hard on this hard landscape of chimneys and
stained windows, of lines of laundry, car fumes rising from the street to smear
the last trails of light I see, before
the world plunges into night, I do not fear the dark yet I resent it, knowing
it has robbed me of a rich memory I can't snatch back, day or dark, locked up
in some vault of time to which I no longer have the combination, maybe never did,
missing it the way a man misses a nagging cough or a lost tooth, both
signifying absence that cannot be restored, a spirit that has slipped between
my fingers, leaving the odd sensation of its passing, yet insubstantial, I can't be sure if it ever really, and yet it has all that I have left
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