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.