ars poetica

Nocturne

Where are you now,
my poems,
my sleepwalkers?
No mumbles tonight?
Where are you, thirst,
fever, humming tedium?
The sodium streetlights
burr outside my window,
steadfast, unreachable,
little astonishments
lighting the way uphill.
Where are you now,
when I need you most?
            It’s late. I’m old.
                        Come soon, you feral cats
                                     among the dahlias.
W. S. Di Piero