Poem: Night Window

 

Night Window

a dog's whine wavers above whispery leaves,

such a howl-whimper rollercoaster,

 

nothing to hold onto

in the torturous sound;

 

and yet i will not admit to myself, 

tucked in bed,

that it forces me to pray.

 

so late, and yet 

there’s much absence of quiet in the silence.

 

stray chirps.  deodar and ash rustles.

a lone screech of rubber tire.

 

there’s too much pregnancy of risk

for me to sleep.

 

of ruttish feline duet.

of chuffing semi-truck, 

or gruff jet plane.

 

funny how my breaths

interlap as easy as purls of a river,

 a sedative measured in doses of breath.

can they, i wonder,

override the night window’s invitation?

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8/1/24