My Confusion Corner commuters are cursing the cold away,
as December tries to dissemble the length of their working day.
And they bite their mitts off to show me transfers, deposit change.
I can't stop finding your face in their faces, all rearranged
and angry, like you never were.
And I ease us back into traffic,
dusk comes on and I wonder
why I'm always remembering you
at civil twilight.

For the most part I think about golfing and constantly calculate
all the seconds left in the minutes, and so on, etcetera.
Or recite the names of provinces and Hollywood actors.
Oh Ontario. Oh, Jennifer Jason Leigh.
But this part of the day bewilders me.
Streets slow down and ice over,
dusk comes on and I struggle,
stop to stop, to stop thinking of you
at civil twilight.

Hey, every other hour I pass that house
where you told me
that you had to go.
I wonder if the landlord has fixed the crack
that I stared at
instead of staring back at you.
My chance to say something
seemed so brief, but it wasn't.
Now I know I had plenty of time.
Between the sunset and certified darkness,
dusk comes on and I follow
the exhaust from memory out to the end
of civil twilight.