The Nighthawk

The Spiral

everyone i tell about the nighthawk,
no one knows what i am talking about.
surely people have heard you,
surely someone is aware
i cant be the only one,
i cant

are you a hallucination?
are you otherworldly? choosing me as your viewer?
are you becoming my doom? my demise?

i am so tired, i cant sleep these days
each night I sit in my perch, waiting farther into the night
so much espresso, it has become my only source of energy
where are you, my dear nighthawk?
where did you go?
were you only meant for me?

even with all of the vigorous research,
nothing comes up.
my hours in the library, scouring old newspaper articles
countless papercuts, countless hours
all to find you
i need to know more
more more more

each day I arrive early,
and each day I leave late.
by now I know the librarian by name,
her name is Martha
she is a sweet thing,
a lovely sight
I have decided to check in town hall.
Possibly there is a trace of you there, my dear nighthawk.
among the records, surely people have submitted sightings of you

you ravage my thoughts,
filling my mind with wonder, curiosity.
but I never find you.
its been weeks since you last passed by my window.
weeks since i last heard your footsteps.

no more fading trail behind you,
no more echo bouncing off the buildings that stand along the road,
all still, showing little sign of the people that live there.