A Poet’s Niche at Night
I sit alone,
here in my nook
surrounded by dark night’s midst,
awakened by who knows what.
It’s not gloomy to me
in my shadowless gray nest,
with familiar walls tinted sepia
by computer screens,
And light from my
black plastic, ergonomic keyboard.
I like it dark without sounds
I couldn’t hear anyway, just midnight feels.
I like them, too.
As I think,
I write
this poem thingy
cuz that’s what poets do,
in the middle of the night.
Look both ways when you sit alone in the darkness.
Mind the gaps,
the things you hear,
the things you feel,
and especially those you don’t.
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