2:00
AM
No
dogs bark at this hour,
Desolate,
an abandoned field burnt by the sun,
Dry
shaving curls on a workshop floor long unswept.
I
hear a motorcycle roar along a distant road,
Harsher
than the sound of sawing wood.
Then
silence thickens like concrete putty sealing
Joints
and crevices of a room
Gradually
deafening to the slightest vibration.
The
world is asleep, I am awake.
Passing
time heaves, a resting animal.
Now
is the moment to descend into stillness
Deep
as darkness enfolding underground rivers,
Delicate
as a tissue broken by a cough.
I
am solitary as a metal tool
Seeking
the warm grasp of a skillful hand.
Before
the smallest beginning of a noise like a flint flake
Tears
into the fabric of the night, I will take long draughts, cupping my hands
Descending
as birds into the springs of tranquility.
Originally
published in This Dark Matter
(January 30, 2015)
 |
| Antique wall clock |
Longer version of this poem:
ReplyDelete2:00 AM
No dogs bark at this hour,
Desolate, an abandoned field burnt by the sun,
Dry shaving curls on a workshop floor long unswept.
Harsher than sawing wood, a motorcycle
Rips along a distant road, popping
Explosions in small packets sputtering
Bits of shrapnel, broken teeth,
Busted rivets, chopped up brittle, pits, tracers, short-lived sparks.
Slowly silence thickens, concrete putty sealing joints and crevices
Of a room deafening to the slightest vibration,
Hardening gradually, spiral candy.
The world is asleep, I am awake.
Passing time heaves, a resting animal.
Dimly, a behemoth of swarming thoughts like fireflies drifts past.
I wait steadfastly, a metal tool seeking the warm grasp of a skillful hand.
Now is the moment to enter into stillness
Deep as cloisters enfolding underground rivers,
Delicate as a tissue by the slightest cough perforated.
Before the smallest particle of noise tears like flint into gossamer darkness,
I will take long draughts, cupping my hands descending as birds into the springs of tranquility.
Gonzalinho