I like the way the
World sounds outside my window at
Ten o'clock at night.
Wind chimes far below
My bed are wandering along
Beaches of night breeze.
Dogs are reveling
In their last moments beyond all
Those sliding glass doors.
Yowls are tangling in
The lower sky, made frenzied by
Ten o'clock magic.
Streets are shifting in
Their flowerbeds, stretching, cars go
Oblivious on.
Headlights make a splash,
Tires a hushed roar, a climax,
A sigh, then nothing.
Where are you going,
Cars, where and when other cars do
Not ever dare to?
Unnamed rustlings hang
As backdrop does, lullaby blurred,
Also made of leaves.
A complete painting
Of sound and the dark, if it were
Watercolor, well.
I hear shadow bridges,
Deep strokes of somber twilight with
Specks, blended yellows.
I hear that P.M.
Wonder that lays claim to summer
Sleepers, awake and dreaming.
