The Sound Equivalent of Seeing Stars

My–The night wind squeaks.
Or is it the air stutters?
An odd creature is formed
aurally, out of suspension
of disbelief and also noise.
Or, parts of an unseen body
displace its environment.

Next to my air-conditioned
and incandescent filters
of walls, roof, wiring.

It is later than I have
promised myself to rest.
But I keep giving myself
extensions. Could it all
be the balancing
liquids of my skull,
my inner ears? That blank
where I am one of the few
who have no mental images.
And so must strengthen
our other senses.

Poem for 6 am, at 6:30

We decide again to wake up early.

We want to spend the first hour

of our days intentionally, toward goals,

with a pen. I hear you awake, writing.

I choose to stay in bed, for the second

morning in a row. First,

I was exhausted. Then,

I was listening to birdsong

and your sweet scratches

in the other room,

your yawns.

Making

this poem,

letting

the rest

rest.