2

Painting by Jean Gawalt


2


There are birds crying at night,
every night, confused by the fluorescent glow
of street lights. Some of them sound
like cell phones. He remembers reading
that somewhere, that they do that now.
With the windows down, it's too still
to sleep, with them up,
the mad shrieks keep him wired.
Noise

whites out noise, both together make
a quiet of sorts. Water
lapping against a pier,
a rain that never ends
and never falls,
pretend the night lasts sixty minutes
and is nothing like that confusion
out the window.


C.L. Bledsoe

Posted over on Right Hand Pointing