Just so you know,
late at night when your spoons
are in the dishwashing machine
it is possible to eat ice cream with a fork.
When it gets soft enough
to drip through the tines
and leave a soft spot on your sock feet
your ruminations may be far from feeling complete.
You may be turning a page on a sunlit beach
or running from a madman up a hill,
gasping raggedly.
It may be a click of the AC
that snaps you out of your reverie,
or a street sweeper, a siren, or subwoofers thumping by,
before your eye will catch the clock
for a long, suspended second
and you remember to put away the carton for the night.

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