They were lucky - they caught things at the right moment

when older or younger the rest just missed it

caught things like the slanted orange stripes

from the street lamp outside the window

while cooking pasta in a dirty pot

the same Broken Social Scene song

on repeat

(when the hour just freezes in the middle of the night)

and the stove so quiet it unnerves her. Everything

just happens at once, or without order, her standing

in his tube socks in the kitchen.

the dark rings of sound around the speakers in the corner,

the way he holds his fork in his fist, how perfect the moon is

when she stares up at it from the shallow end of the pool

floating in a tub no bathing suit, the trickle of ash

from cigarettes. Let it get stuck

in the middle of the air

and they can see their own dust

hovering by their knees, perfectly pitched.