https://plumepoetry.com/author/duckler-merridawn/

Everyone guzzled what light there was leftover,
filled Big Gulps, jars with screw tops (optimists)
guy in front of me with makeshift dozer
attached to his car grill, stacked the light promise
in piles against a rainy day. A forked
blue caldera in the otherwise ashen sky
tormented us with reminded concord
as it sucked up daylight and my rebel eyes
shut tightly against the dark, my logo
made veins that ran parallel like lightening stock
footage and the time I saw the photo
of two clocks, made to never and definitely stop
Perfect Lovers. Grasp them, my bireme
and believe in days short as a prescient dream.