The plastic clock ticks

like pebbles dropped against concrete


then gone.

Each tick is the number one

all night

the number one.

My lover of ten years

snores over, then below

the number.

Cats mash through last fall’s leaves

below the window.

Someone else is in a bright room,

awake and making use of it

in a moment far away from here.

But here

the refrigerator shudders

then stops.

I keep listening.