Poems of the Night 3

Not in the simple stuff of the orderly daytime only in the sky of chaos in the summer night

the Hale-Bopp comet is creeping between the stars where the hands of the clock continue the muezzin’s calls to prayer.

White airport light blocks the apricot in the southeast dumbells of death like black cherries are kept from kissing.

I stride bootless bragging with ugly toes turned up; through my shadow in shallow water you see the summer marsh.