Linger: a finger-tip supposes
a thought tap-tap-tapping…
while hollow echoes
resound
in the collapse of light;
a streetcorner
with no direction
plays party to the motion.
A nebulous vacuum swells its way
into every nook and cranny, nostril and alveoli,
depositing and dissolving air-borne
particles of elements and minerals
into bloodstreams and sewers.
While the cold settles making nothing unfamiliar,
what little warmth left is nursed out of thin air
as fingers entwine:
givers receiving
their bounty.
collab. w/ Chris Clarke