The radio is off
The stars are on
I'm seventy-six and still awake

The room sits cross-legged
The roof slumbers on its stomach, folded

The stars cut glass,
the screeches go unnoticed

The night sits at its desk,
sifting through the bills,
thinking about other things

The windows wiggle their shoulders
in the moonlight;
get out of their frames and fly with the owls

Eternity comes for a brief visit