Past midnight,
come the hours of calm.
Where the ether is still,
still enough to see its reflection.

Minds and fingers twitch,
the heady rush of this world’s
many tempting deaths, abandoning reality,
in return to the cold sobriety of the bedroom ceiling.

We’re agaze,
contemplating our decisions,
their outfall, our soul,
it’s (in) significance.

What can I truly afford?
Is morality my own?
Will I recognise your face?
Am I … weak ?

We, small crumbs of carbon,
pin meaning to label and relation,
pursuing cereal constructs –love and life.
Items bought and sold as is,
in society’s retouched agora.

Past-night,  I sit
staring to the black,
the intermittent winds chilling,
the ether still,
still enough to see my reflection.