Overtime
The Man-Moth always seats himself facing the wrong way.
— Elizabeth Bishop, “The Man-Moth”
            Working past midnight
he touches the desk lamp bulb with a thumb
absentmindedly, again and again.  Documents
blossom like moonflowers, heady with fresh ink.
             His back to the window
a storm of tiny wings hits the glass: 
the night is leaving fingerprints.
 
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