Each hour
passes as in a day.
First,
second,
third
it began.
Now,
Saturday,
soon Friday again.
If only the dreaded days
are kinder,
less hostile
to the mind.
If only
memories fill pages - -
A trip, a nightout,
a conversation
while traversing
unknown streets at night.
But days have become
prayers uttered
with every breath,
with nights far longer
and more threatening
in one's isolation.


I think about the city lights
as souls.
Do not die out, do not die out,
I cry into the night.
My breath I lift up
as incense to the Sky.
I pray for flickers
that are not consumed.
I ask for less stars
in the heavenlies
and more hopeful
ones in the Metro.
I poke at Venus now.
I tell her:
Dispense your warmth.
Let it glow within us.
She is beauty
but she mocks.


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