The moon is high in the sky.
But one car has gone down the road.
To look at the clock, it says morning;
Yet, I wonder why I’ve awoken.
Pencil to paper it is!
Panes frame my sight of car two.
That same sill winks winter’s draft.
Poem,
still waiting-
Where are you?
Floorboards hold their long silence.
Now, I hear five and six
Cat and kids in their beds fast asleep
Still-
no words-
seem to stick.
My coffee, now cooling-
was I dreaming car one?
The plow shakes the whole house.
And patiently,
I wait-
for the poem.
Ah!
The sun!