night has a sound
fools call silence,
(sirens break it)
but they do not
hear night
like I do.
humming air conditioners,
3 am cab-traffic,
and the poorer
pedestrian drunks
are not silence.
the street lights click on
then off,
the pavement breathes
vibrations intersecting
rubber-beaten streets,
drying, a bath towel flaps
over the balcony
the wash of tree leaves
echoes silk sliding off skin
to meet the floor, the way
trees meet the ground
a sulky skunk at dumpster
clatters rolling cans
and he shuffles, startled,
through queen anne's lace
in his retreat
floating soot roars
distantly
from a bluing bridge,
and these things are called
the hush of night
but are rather
unbeginning noise.
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