Friday, July 10, 2015


It is well past four,
Ante meridiem,
And Insomnus, old friend,
You visit after long.

On this wet wet night
Ringing with rain,
Chorus of crickets,
And distant rolls of thunder,
My ears miss your soft soft heaving,
My boy, and the twitching
In your dreams,
And the warmth
Of your coat.

Somewhere by the night
In a cove or cornice
Two sisters keep watch...
Or huddle half wet,
While my girl walks the night,
While my girl prowls the night,
And two spots wait,
And two spots yawn.

It is well past four,
And a wet wet night
For even the worst
Of fathers
Have known the best
Of love.