Rain on Midnight
I scrunch the carpet between my toes
at the foot of the bed. A cool damp
feeling is in the house but still cozy
purple darkness all around.
The blinds half shut
and rain is passing through
the light cone of the streetlight
outside. At a glance the image
comes away with me: the rain the light is
set in is a funnel and a spaceman
steps across the droplets
frozen in the air up to the white
luminescence radiating down.
How careful he steps. Just like
a spaceman
away up there.
I blink heavily
and the image wanders off.
I get to my feet.
There is cold pizza in the frig.
No one is awake. No one is here.
A calm liquid quiet is settled. I drift
out through the livingroom and
to the kitchen and squint into
the lighted cool interior of the frig.
A few grease stains are on
the box and I flick the
the little tab open with my finger
and reach and take a slice
and close the frigerator door and then turn
to the window over the kitchen sink
slowmunching the pizza.
I watch the quiet
rain of midnight.
There is soft thunder in a far distance.
Almost imperceptible away out there.
Rain and light drop down the
windowpane.
A cat is under the
awning of the neighbors stoop
across the street. She is cleaning her ear
with her paw. She stops and looks
but there is little indication that she has seen
me or is concerned or surprised about
anything at all. It is just a look, sort of
matter of factly.
She again licks her
paw and glides it across
her ear. It’s a kind of
rectilinear space she sits in from the rain pattering about her off
the awning overhead. Seated, cooleyed
with her little ritual.
There is much night left and much
sleep still to be had. I wade back
through the mauve darkness of the
house. The room is cool. The bed too.
Sleep comes easily.
Sometimes sleep comes easily.
