mother

perhaps I should
go to bed earlier
I would then be
part of the well-rested masses
but
as I stand outside
two and a half hours
past midnight’s chimes
the icy wind biting
at my naked thighs
I look up to
my mother in the sky
waning gibbous, the
full three days gone
with the innocuous
sounds of suburbia
ringing in my ears
(a chirping bird
the wind
and a car door slamming
somewhere in the distance)
I know that this is
my time for being
no street lights shine
but I see such sights
of wonder and peace
and even as my hands
turn numb in the cold
I breathe the night air
and feel the balm
of home

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