Friday, February 26, 2016


Night  has scrubbed clean
The street of light
And sound.
Gone, the sound of church bells,
The whoosh of passing cars,
The echoes of spectators
Watching children playing soccer,
Sprinklers spritzing on, then off,
The roar of lawn-mowers--
All gone under the persistent,
Downward pressure of dark matter.
Air--that combination of oxygen
And nitrogen--
Clear in the daylight,
Becomes impenetrable.
See nothing/
Hear everything--
The night is made for listening,
The receipt of words,
The interpretation of silences.
Life’s alternating current--
Day, with the eyes open,
And night, when sight gives way
To sound,
Gives way to touch,
Gives way to smells
Of lotions, perfumes,
These hours--
Sacred, extraordinary, time--
For extrications, contractions,
Retractions and consents,
Of skin and spirit,
Blood and belief--
All in this weightlessness

Of night's caress.

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