I imagine that midnight moment again. Something else must be alive beside the lazy beat of this, clock, the rustle of this page wilting under my blank fingers. I remember it all, try to jot it all down
but my head is a black hole, my fingers running on empty. Nothing to say, I guess. I tug free, open the window, stare into the starless black hole, and listen to the caws of the black-beaked clock. Till dawn, until my phone goes mad with silence, and I blue with you.