Day Turns To Night

A new century waits as the minutes


into hours of vestibular begotten memory


My thoughts being counted although I


my feelings in service to what’s left behind


The sun and the moon trade in bartered


each jilting the other as day turns to night


Another year is recorded in the serpentine


what’s seen a mirage—what’s measured retained


(The New Room: March, 2021)



Copyright 2021 Kurt Philip Behm

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