Time in the City
Seeming to trace the curve
of some invisible metronome,
a moth swings in measured arcs,
rising toward a streetlight.
Around him, the city whirs and grinds,
sinks into its own gravity,
slowing in the dark.
The moth touches the light,
then falls back in a winding spiral.
The city clicks its cranks,
moving a little more lightly,
a little further on.