Night: in the air, the scent of pine
of jasmine, of damp concrete.
Two dogs bark as we pass:
one little, one large, in harmony.
The moon, gibbous, grinning, waning –
a livid splash in a grey landscape.
The rough brush of yew cypress,
a mosquito bite, salt on my lips,
the pungent taste of imperfect
remembrance – the lost years, the lost nights.