Union Square at night,

warm winter eve, out walking;

the trees smell like spring

the stars above are just planes

— winter fades, my resolve thaws.

Closer to midnight,

half a moon in my window

memento mori;

she will wax and wane always

we will wax and wane just once.

I count syllables

working hard at the forms

that slowly erode

sepulchers where I’ve hidden

the echoes that I’ve gathered.

These I will put forth,

imperfect but nigh complete,

in these brevities.