Turning over

At 2:24 dark, the mockingbird, and moon

Conspired to wake me,

I rise, finally, compulsive-

By three thirty both have fallen back down

It is only me awake

Again

In this nook, near a shelf in the world.

The cats all sleep deeply at this hour,

The only ripple above is me.

Already, I have sought in the low light

And scoured the flat surfaces for the source

Of the voice-

As though if I knew this

I could sleep through the music

Conducting words my way

Some sink in

Such as

-Begin and Again-

i-am-hear.


Painting by Oscar Florianus Bluemner, 'Moon-Night-Mood' (1929) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Ear worms (Annelida aural)

A rare blue stillness awaits me at three
electric sleep and low idle
hums

This scissored presence moves
closed and blunt
under roof, between walls,
muffled in cotton

picking
up soft words, I sort them,
line up and accumulate these
in stacked strips

with varying lengths-All
leaning against the left
alone

to translate for the birds
already practicing
their mock speeches and weighing the scales

like me, less
to say, we both prepare to navigate

afloat on the surface
cast in the floodlight of suns rays
songs again
tend to dissipate.

Illustration for Dante's Purgatorio 09
by Gustave Doré

First image By Shibata Zeshin [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.