I should actually say ‘past eleven’
because this is ‘twelve’.
Now that the hours have done
their work, they may dance –
madly, blithely, cannabis-high.
(No need for filter papers as I do not smoke.)
We’ve watched today’s games, partaken
of today’s meals, exhaled some sighs.
I will sleep on today’s poems, which
will all look different in the
morning. I didn’t even wear my glasses.
(My husband’s snores are in a crescendo.)
Outside, the birds are asleep, or
perhaps wondering why my candles have
not been turned off yet, waiting for
the sun to touch the trees again
and move them to burst into song.