Copenhagen

I gossip with the candle over a gin and tonic and a cup of tea, measuring time by the courage in the glasses of the first date to my right. The tables across the room carry the conversation of the couple in the corner, a reminiscence of old friends, and some bottles left out for the ghosts.

There’s a murder of crows on the steps out front. Boys in black jackets smoking cigarettes, collecting reflections from the puddles, naming the make and model of cars rushing past. I let them have their ruby break lights as I steal the diamonds from the rain on the window. To see is to have, to witness is to make yours, the candle and I agree. It is a gift in moments like these.

The world is red and honeyed and I am late enough that there is nothing left to leave for.