Sky like a bruise out my window,
Clock reads eleven pm.
Peace of night invades my empty room.
Vision of fuzz without glasses,
And without words that fill my head.
Few lights on at the tire place,
Down the road a bit, to the left,
Space between the window and blinds.
Three, I think, I remember,
But I didn’t count anyway.
Trees still against road silent,
Which whisper back and forth,
Whisper back and forth.
And a car approaches,
Several miles down the road,
In a tiny hum that you can only hear,
If you listen.