And Night

He sits here quietly at night, and here the night escapes through the plaster walls across the wet green lawns and out the gates to the sound of passing cars passing on the foggy streets softly humming out of town on the country roads past the fences past the trees blowing in the starry breeze rushing through their leaves down the gentle slopes across the shining creeks up the banks and through the brush and dwelling in the fields. Here he sits and thinks at night; here he sits.

December 1972