When evening parts with day At midnight
I turn on the light the house begins to shake
And show old surfaces: a soft cat
Unraveling carpet seams in slumber.
A broken window— A bear at the window—
Who knows whether asking for a treat
In darkness a smear of licorice
I find my dreams inside a wrapper.
Raven struts on rooftop’s edge Pauses by the mast Wonders of the treasures Behind each building’s glass. Something shiny? A yogurt? A morsel of bread? Never mind, says the raven, flaps his wings by the flag— The sun shines. The forest provides. Wait— What’s inside that plastic bag?
Call across the canyon Carved in heart’s striations Scarred by empty days That history has drowned. The echo makes an absent bridge That falls and falls and falls To the gone old world That never makes a sound.