SYPHON
Long-ago, through
night and day
linked to now,
film-frame by frame:
a car door slams,
an engine runs,
sometimes there are voices,
sometimes none,
the long rumbling
of a train,
the almost-no-noise
of a drawer opening.
Silence like water-drops
suspended through walls
or ceilings, a click,
a throat cleared.
Summer is staying awake,
nightly responding;
Summer is opening
the lens of your eyes.
Second by second,
where rail-yards meet
the estates and part-buys,
the city’s pulse fades fast:
light is beginning
all over again
in a kiss, an embrace
that never stops.
