instead of reading Heidegger or Edward Young
i listen to Suzanne sung by Simone
her piano, subdued as the gloaming, the distant neon steps of stars
her minimal rhythm that fills limbs with move
& sing along as throatily as possible
in imitation of the nightingale Simone caged in her ribs
stomp like a rain maker, trying to crack the tiles
to break free the spirit of the floor, with bare feet
in the marmalade glow of a single light bulb
so that i pass in & out of shadow.
all i own, all i have made
to dance with a friend
as if we were dancing
to alter everything to a denser facet
than matter shows.
the days go quick but time goes slow.
i want to pour my pal
a cup of makkoli again.
i found a firefly
on the cafe stairs
aglow still, in limbo
between life & death
dying of the season
—so i scooped it up
& offered it a child
to mind until its tail glow
diminished to 0.