THOUGHTS ON A TROUBLED NIGHT

Watching you, not knowing how to read

the syntax of your breath, now peaceful, now

quick, past midnight’s window

a boat motor gnawing,

night or day these human sounds

a trespass on our private space.

You turn your head, eyes half open

as if reaching a far-off realm.

Through the bars of your crib

I keep measuring your breaths,

long or short, unrhymed, softly rhythmic.

The motor eats my thoughts.

Your cough seems to doubt

the dark’s unstoppable totality.

If night’s outside

what’s in?

From the swaying boat I watch you.

Something glints amid the waves.