Perceived
before dawn
As
the dish of the day
By
noon, a squeeze of lemon
Undiluted
on the tongue
Altered
tastes of things to come
Memories
played back in repetition
A
hundred eyes morphed into windows
Each
looking at the same sun-bleached canvas
An
unmistakable likeness to an old crime
Dusk
descended on a routine day
The
previous night’s convictions
No longer fired up in the belly