Pre-dawn; dish of the day By noon; a squeeze of lemon undiluted on the tongue, Altering tastes of things to come. Memories play back in repetition Ninety-nine eyes morph into windows, Each looking at the same sun-bleached canvas Unmistakable likeness. An old crime? Revised mercy, benched for safekeeping. Dusk descends as on a routine day, but with all of the previous night’s convictions still fired up in the belly.