Day Turns To Night

A new century waits as the minutes

 progress

into hours of vestibular begotten memory

 

My thoughts being counted although I

resist,

my feelings in service to what’s left behind

 

The sun and the moon trade in bartered

romance,

each jilting the other as day turns to night

 

Another year is recorded in the serpentine

past,

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

 

(The New Room: March, 2021)

 

 

Copyright 2021 Kurt Philip Behm

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