my bones fluctuate between heat and resentment
I could feel resuscitations on my still black heart
from the moon that followed me across the bridge

I couldn’t remember how to listen until the trees whispered
verses of Neruda as I passed and the grass lisped Plath
my perceptions frayed at the sight of the descending moon 

I watched as the air filled with coffee fumes and nicotine
the sky darkened briefly with bitterness as I wandered
up onto the landing, across the rooftop and into my head.