night pantoum

at the foot of the cliff, in the city of steel,

electricity’s hum a drone beneath the sirens wail,

the twinned breaths of husband and furnace

whisper in the ghost blue seam of light between the curtains.

white noise, blue noise, tire on snow, all

mask the footfall of the wild animals

outside my darkened window, in the moonlight.

these stolen moments are mine alone.

in the house behind lie a dozen sleeping refugees

their pillows hot, bare skin sweating beneath soft navy flannel.

i roll over and fall into someone else’s words,

running my one tired good eye over the backlit page.

i am warm, encased, cocooned.

i breathe along with the forced air, the loose snores.

snowy letters atop the black night of the screen feed my hungry dreams

in the city of steel, at the foot of the cliff.