Somewhere outside a car alarm
wails, and the neighbors are smoking on
their stoop. 2 o'clock, dark, smiles,
and I cook penné pasta alone,
loving the stillness, the night at
rest; and my sleepless rest, my thoughts
of you, asleep across town. Will
you wear your brown dress tomorrow,
I wonder? Sleep creeps into my eyes, I eat
two bowls, leave the dish in the sink
with the others. I hear early birds
singing in the tree near the window.
Sleep will arrive soon, but until then:
I'm face up; the ceiling's a washed out
canvas for the day sung, the day come.