LONG LISTED FOR THE 2023 GRIFFIN POETRY AWARDS

Brief Season
 
There is always a moment during the night when we
             sense the secret preparation
no one admits to; the “probably night watchman”
             we say
since his faraway steps intensify the autumnal frost
then our enemies die of natural causes and we have
the advantage that we penalized ourselves;
but each morning the hallway of the county medical
office elongates due to tiredness until it becomes an
           event from a different life
old women, unaffected like unwritten pages, crowd
            themselves on benches
or other times “I’m genius” I’m thinking, but where
            did I put the key?
While the smell of boiled vegetables from downstairs
            reached us
almost like motherhood or like the nice words one
            could say to himself;
strange people, or at least weaklings, that our shoes
            always took us elsewhere
until they saw us simultaneously in twelve or twenty
            different places of the city
like an epidemic or an uprising; then, what was this
            all about?
I shook my shoulders indifferently and lay down
to sleep while the distant barking occasionally
interrupted the insignificance of the world.
 
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