Syracuse, NY 13210
Volume 9, 2009
Questions at Midnight
Where will the skunk hide in the morning,
the one we saw this evening
as it shuffled along, black on black,
tail tipped in white like a single pearl?
And what of the mushrooms alongside the path
who stood together,
three or four of them, like children
waiting for the school bus?
And what of the embryo, newly conceived,
who is already dividing itself
like a child in front of a fun house mirror?
And the poets, where are they?
Are they trying to dream, curled on their sides
like women in labor
whose times have not yet come?
And the dying? Are they, this very night,
like me—unable to sleep, and full of anticipation?