Runcible Spoon

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From her window

she can see street lamps

and cars pearling their noose

round the livid neck of evening.

Her phone, its screen’s dim background

constellated with apps, somewhere calls to her,

insistent as the traffic below her sill that’s drawn

to the vivid rings adorning the city’s edge, beyond which

black depths spread, like the stain of silence she leaves at the ledge