God scrubs up, aims her beam sharp and low –
Everything looks magnified, pinned down tight
On a white board – all her squirming specimens,
Shining bright.

The sun, sticking to the inner lanes –
I skim my life’s condensed version
Through the leafless window panes,
Already time for day again.

A starving fire in the west,
Cinders shrinking into ash –
These shorter days make darkness bolder.
Its shadows stretch, touch my shoulder.

(First published in slightly different form in Deronda Review Vol. 10 No. 1. Thanks to the editors.)