Night

One-forty-five…
Two o’clock…
Two-thirty-seven….
In this darkness
The fifty-one years of my life
Are nowhere to be found.
Nor are the two years of this dog’s being
Or the four years of that dog’s presence.
All that we have
Are three hearts pressing into the night
A rhythm as steady as small waves from a calm sea.
This small sound is punctuated by acorns
Pinging rooftops and patios and glass tables
As they fall through the stillness they break
And the insects who sing
A story that does not include us.
I am awake and alive
To the nothing that carries
Everything through time and space
That is a gift to every life.
In this ancient music
My little dogs
Move closer to me:
They want contact
As their sleepy canine mutterings
Say sleep is good
When you can get it
(So keep the light off),
And so is our pack,

Here and now.

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