Tender, the evening quietly
mentions itself
to my blue window.
It says,
"rest now,
"drama arrives of delicacy,
the feat is restraint,"
and continues in its
water-slow deepening.

Night, muscle bound,
takes the shift over,
warns me darkly,
"you don't have time; ask
now for what you want."

Before my questions pose,
the dawn is upon all of us.
colorless-planes of light are
the least scrutinizing platitudes,
confessing indiscriminately.
On the street, acquaintances
deliver the same rote addresses:
hellohowareyouhowisjudy.
This indifferent treatment seems
to imply that I have all time
to turn away from desire.

But youth whittles away at itself, and
another minute drops off towards noon.