Transcription by Conley Lowrance

You spoke in your cadenced alphabet,
with your heart like a machine & opals
buried in the pockets of your coat.
Around you, the streetlamps faltered
& you contemplated forgetting your name
or losing your wallet on a busy street.
“Nothing is worse than these slender years—
nothing compares to this city’s congested rain—”
In spite of your best efforts, your mangled
thefts, you still turn to me—a small dog
in search of a warm hand. “You were always
particular—always on the street before I arrived.”
& for what? these almost-white letters?
the illegible memory of an empty apartment?

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