As the queen of the night, the lamp blooms on my study table, illuminating my thoughts. In the darkness, the torch whittles a way for my vision. The timepiece teaches me time can be musical. Each ticking has a meaning. My radio catches a flying voice. I ruminate nonchalantly under the eaves of the song. Everything is enticing, energized by the battery that remains inside like my father. First published in The Literary Hatchet.