I counted the streetlights
In the field of dark town
On the ribbon of black road
An ever-flickering night
I counted the streetlights
On the river of coal
In the storm of silhouettes
An ever-present pattern
I counted the streetlights
In the blind belly of a van
On the catwalk of cement
An ever-watchful poet
Who counted the streetlights
In the backstreet of her home
On the parkway tumbling out into
An ever-lit land
A hundred and twenty eight paint strokes of white
Touches of flame
Drumbeats of wind
Hunched
Tall
Sentinels
Reaching with their illumination
Nothing like a star
Blank
Electric
Old
Out to swarm my mother's car
A hundred and twenty eight times.
