a.m.

the streetlamps dim
to push sleep past the sidewalk
up through windows
into bedrooms,
like an ether
with a deep breath that never exhales

collapsing with the smog and the traffic
until asphalt footsteps are as loud
as the ringing in your ears

and four o’clock comes
from endless birdsongs
courting darkness
as if it were
light.

 

About this poem

Written decades ago, but I’ve reposted it. Probably my favorite poem that I’ve written, and it’s the only one that I’ve memorized.