Today, she woke up
two years ago, mesmerized
by nighttimes raven calls,
singing remembrance. She forgot
to quantify the hour, so early,
in clean arithmetic.
Stumbling, drunk on ethers,
on aethers, her mind an illusion
as it dances in morning dark.
Blissful, ignorant reminiscence
tainted with quixotic ideals.
She leaves the lights off.
SS
In the Present 