Night sounds drift through
The wet morning air
Birds chime like the sun is rising
Yet, there are hours to go
Before bright light
Burns away the darkness
The full moon must be confusing
These feathered creatures
It hangs high over head
Like a night watchman
With his flashlight
Constantly shining down
Through the slow moving clouds
The birds’ songs echo across this town
Down its barren streets
For, most are sleeping now
Sleepless, I sit drinking coffee
Steam rises up out of my cup
On this cool March morning
Sitting here
I write poetry and read Whitman
Read Whitman and write poetry
As time floats by
One minute falling into two
Two falling into three
Now
Coyotes move through
The school’s grounds
Across the street
They communicate
Out there in the darkness
With what almost sounds like laughter
Their cries bounce off the buildings
And the covered walkways
The coyotes’ laughter now moves
Into a neighborhood
Rows of homes that all look the same
Like they’ve been stamped out
In a giant machine press
Nothing more
Than a maze of the modern
Up-to-date and boring
Perfect for insecure souls
To watch one another
For what to do next
What car to drive
What outfit to wear
When the sun rises
And
The night sounds are no more
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