Time in the City

By

Seeming to trace the curve

of some invisible metronome,

a moth swings in measured arcs,

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rising toward a streetlight.

Around him, the city whirs and grinds,

sinks into its own gravity,

slowing in the dark.

The moth touches the light,

then falls back in a winding spiral.

The city clicks its cranks,

moving a little more lightly,

a little further on.

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