Cyclops, Part 2

Were I a cyclops wandering the streets at dawn,

I would be lost, time out of memory.

The whiskey premise of the night now siphoned out,       

Revealing sober angles of uncertainty;

Coffee be brewed, hot coffee be consumed in quarts;

While every bagel vendor in this town unpacks

A warm prismatic spread of fresh croissants,

I walk alone, preoccupied by unrequited love:

My life, my life, that I would sweetly sacrifice

For one fleet glimpse of that bright girl again.

The buildings part by luminescent hands

That trail black streaks of shadow down the avenues.

Take note, my fretful heart, the cyclops beast in me

Has trained its single eye on this new loving urgency.