Maybe they will whisper
when morning comes
to you about the truth
of the matter…
But for now, night surrounds
like a fortress
its black moat
an unfordable barrier
you can neither swim
or walk across–
There is no jumping
at this late moment;
You forgot how in youth
taking few risks
shorter steps with age
looking around in smaller circles
And so…there you are;
not surprised to be a prisoner
of the small hours
when a bird’s call is an oddment
footsteps on the walk, a dirge
or even nonexistant
and the telltale fall of leaf
with a crinkling crashing sound
about as much
as you can take
without walking out
to the dark, sightless museum
of night–to save it from itself
in a box or a pocket
or on display as a relative
that bears little resemblance
to you, at all.