lonely nighttime

[crumpetswithtea]

while i envisage the dull gray fog
that fills the space beneath my sternum,
the time will slip by
slowly and less deliberately
than the drops of melted water will slip
from the eaves of my house
after the first warmth of spring

my lungs are heavy and hoarse with mist
vapor curling off  the surface of a black river
on a chill winter day, before the sun has risen
and  so time flows not in rivulets
but like the drops from a leaky faucet
deafeningly loud in the middle of the night