Vigilance

Skip sleep – wait for something to happen.

Open all the kitchen cupboards and

pace the ceiling.

That roar in your ears is the pressured flow of arterial blood.

That roar in the room behind the quiet

is the white noise of expectation.

Soon real sound will rush in.

This night, this dark hour of

the morning, these paralyzed seconds:

something will happen.

.

A light sweeps the side wall of the opposite house.

A sound like cellophane from behind

those trees,

tremble of a shadow between the gaslight

and the car,

quavering vibration of an uncertain star.

.

Not so far – stay in the dark on the porch and

listen – so still but not asleep,

waiting.

Why’s the light on three houses down? Around

the corner, next door, that roar,

something must happen – shake it off,

go back in, pace the floor and wish

for a car, lights out, to pull into

the drive, for the phone’s sudden ring.

Pace the walls, still not asleep, waiting.

Be a ghost in the house buzzed by troubling memories,

focused on forecasting the future.