Five Observations

My veins are conduits for
electric current. Synapse to
synapse the brain snaps on.
Skip sleep and glow, wait to
catch the copper dawn.

*

The night traffic echoes
your deep sleep sounds. A
quiet shore, a soft rumble
receding, rolling over,
coming back.

*

They’re working on a roof. They
talk and hammer. The knocking
stammers through the streets. Their
conversation penetrates the yard.
Not the sense of it, just the sound.
Theirs are the only words around.

*

I shouldn’t mention that your
hair smells like lemons, that the
bed is a mess, that our lives
travel faster approaching the
final station.

*

Arms crossed, button the jacket.
Keep a hornet for a pet or
teach a wolf to ring a bell. You
can bind what’s meant to bite but
you’ll be bound as well.