Friday, March 29, 2013

Where the worry went

The dogs are sleeping

and we are nearly

a quiet interrupted 

only by breathing 

and the hum of wires

through the streets.

A pickup truck bounces

down the block, maybe

its passenger had a bit to drink, 

shouts a "whoop!" into the night. 

This is the place where the poem

might turn--a woman might shift in the bed, 

unable to stop the wrestling

match in her head. But tonight, in every room--

all over the city--the people remain

untroubled for a time, 

a tiny gift, their worries

absorbed, whirled, and burning

with starlight. 

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