Thursday, December 24, 2015

2:00 AM


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.

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.



Street lamp at night

2 comments:

  1. Public domain photo

    Photo link: https://pixabay.com/p-1589134/?no_redirect

    Gonzalinho

    ReplyDelete
  2. Longer version of poem by the same title

    Gonzalinho

    ReplyDelete