i aim a cracked
camera

at streets that won’t
stop moving
,

on a day that crawls
down my neck

like a parade
of city
pests,

i aim my cracked
camera

in the hopes that
no one sees

my vain attempt with
shy contempt

to frame this washed
out scene.

no questioning where
lost time
went,

each step marked in
liquid cement,

a breath like ash
upon life’s
page
,

the voice that can’t
conceal its
age.