Near Midnight

I let go slowly the weight
Of another day.  Leaving my scattered desk,
I open the window for a little air —

A new rain quiets the streets.
There is only this soft, splashing sound
Of a few cars driving past

On the avenue.  And below me, suddenly,
A man’s voice, so vivid
As I listen to him talking, saying good-bye

In the raining night, until a car door
Slams shut and I’m alone again.
And I keep on listening, feeling the day

Running out, near midnight,
And the noises from outside coming in —
The whole restful city

Like a woman’s delicate hands
Over my ears; until even a siren, far off,
Thins out into a thread of spiritual

Music.  And something is gone from inside me;
A ghost, or the days I have lived out
The wrong way.  Something finally lifted.

And I feel weak, dreamy, like a small
Boy who has finished crying.  And everything —
The cars, the rainy night, the man’s voice

That still seems to be talking, still held
in the fine bones of my ears — tells me
“Whatever it is you want, you will never have.

Don’t be afraid. Give up. Give up”

 

One comment on “Near Midnight

  1. […] “The Good Morning,” “Nobody Knows the Answer to this Poem,” or the last poem here that […]

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