Morning


Night lasts long in my winter vale
darkly dreamless too, trust street
lamps to find my way into town,
tiny moons emit ideal lime-light

Stop under one and ham a poem,
didn’t see the patrol car, grinning
faces, but as I stood on one leg,
at the time, they knew I was sober.

When reaching the point of my
travail the day was flowing like
a hungry river, my streetlamps
looked pale and quite irrelevant.