I wake at five a.m. to find all the streetlights
In the neighborhood flashing.
There is no explanation. No one else sees it,
I have no one to share it with.
It is so hard to improvise a home
And make sure yourself is yourself.
Doo-wop floats through the window
Like blue cotton from another world.
My mind is on such intimate terms with tension
It does not know what to do with peace.
The darkness isn’t a plot device: it’s just there.
But the light is also. I don’t understand it either.
My love is a river running soul deep! sing the Box Tops,
And I must not scoff at them for telling the truth.
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