in the blue hour

Published in Everyone's a fucking poet! 1995

fivethirty in the morning 
nothing lucid inside    not
	motion not position
not the polish of mirror
& the opaque windows, hope & 
	glassy-eyed
will ask
	not demand
that you paint your endevours
on the door as you leave --
	a landscape of
	absent waiting rooms
for the arrival of unknown guests
	decorated without blueprint

no fashion
	can accomodate
	dreams

cacophonous bliss
the small minutes
before dawn
	ubiquitous thoughts
	the universe in scale
clocks stopped measuring distances 
of now & then
	until we woke the sparrows
	missing songs of explanation
throwing darts at caution
strangers gone
beyond the day of fools
	"laughter & memory"
	a masterpiece departure
	lingering
and then some