So This Is The Night

In my dull-headed
attempt to exempt myself
from the depths of consciousness,
I have— for a monotonous
month of straddling
the marathon carousel,
grasping at banana green buds
that could only be seen
through a plastic microscope,
and wading throat-deep through
the garbled sounds of gardening—
clearly forgotten that
this is the night,
where my only saving grace
is that my silhouette
cannot be traced.