Writing This At 3 a.m.


In no-man’s-time,
not the day coming
nor the day before,

this is itself a pinhole:

night, the dark room,
no equipment
but the smallness

of the aperture,

one minute would do,
one second
better, or less

if you could snap awake

in any instant
wholly, perfectly.

 

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Poems © Philip Gross