From RETURNING FROM A POETRY READING

I One by one I add the ingredients of my mood: 9pm. Darkness. Quiet houses. Solitude. Between buildings, through mist, I catch floodlights from a nearby hockey field. Muffled voices curse and laugh, as I yield to the lonely spectator’s urge. A practice match. I mix all these together, walk and wait; over a cold fire, blindly, I concoct my fate.

 

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