MIDNIGHT, LEANING AT A WINDOW

Midnight, leaning at a window

as night deepens, unfolding its ink-dark wings.

Not one star

yet from the harbor below the mountain

the lights of fishing boats burn steadily awake,

neither yawning nor tossing in bed.

Their orange lamps aloft

lure fish and dragons to their glow.

I too must drift from this peaceful shore,

hoping for anchorage, as will these boats,

leaving familiar wind and wave.

Tonight, a solitary clam, open to the universe

over the sleepless harbor,

I’m sleepless too, loath to wake

at sunrise in a dream, in a mist,

snuffing the fishing light, shoving off.