As the clock presses the night
into tomorrow
it is quiet
spacious
everyone has gone home
but I can still feel the day
inside me
like a car
with no muffler
that you can hear drive away
for a mile
all the conversations
hum in my chest
my lungs making up
for lost breaths
I think of the cat
the look he gave me
half-hidden in our hedge
waiting for birds
such disdain
for our feast
that seemed to require
so much commotion.
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