The Night and Me
It comes with the night.
It does,
The muse.
The fuse ignites. . .
The silence does
Its deeds inside.
It needs the night,
And so do I.
I have to be there
When they come,
Connections
In their thrumming,
Drumming,
To the different hums.
I have to hear them coming.
Words on little cat feet,
As Frost expressed the fog.
Yes, fog it is
Enfolding, holding onto
Rhythms, warm and cold,
Flowings coming, swift and slow.
I have to be there,
Hear them clearly,
Share the air
They echo,
Bend my neck
To catch them,
Turn my ear
To hear them,
Net them,
Let them
Be consumed.
I am
Eater of words,
Digesting, testing,
Resting here,
To find the meter,
Hear them,
In the bright of night
To hear their light
To give them sight.
I need to be here,
Hearing them,
Feel them waking,
Meet arrival,
Taking note
Of what they wrote
Upon the night.
If I’m not here,
How can they live,
If I’m not here?
I welcome them,
Sometimes in glee,
Sometimes in tears,
No, never fears -
The gifts of them
In gratitude
They give me life,
My latitude.
I’m blessed they’ve
Not sent platitudes.
...Their life forms
Striving to be born,
Words flow foglike
In pre-morn.
Night is when
They come to life,
To take to sea,
A-scrambling down
From nest to surf -
The turtle words
That come to me.
Eager life forms,
Trusting me
That they can swim
Unnumbered free,
Unencumbered
Gleefully.
I bow to them,
They know it, too.
They bow to me.
We know it’s true.
They simply love me,
Want to hug me,
In our rugby
Game of glee,
Roughly tumbling,
Tackling free,
Muddy buddies
Joying to be
Wrestling, whistling,
Quietly,
When nighttime comes -
And they to me.
Oh, dead of night,
I worship thee.
What would I do -
What could I do –
With none of you,
Without
The din of you,
The fun of you,
The want of you,
The fount of you?
Oh, dead of night,
I bow to you.
Written this,
One dead of night -
Early Spring,
Two Thousand Nine...
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