it’s either
one or two am,
the time for one to be
delirious & drunk on the need
to sleep, to fall into the clutches
of the night. yet
i am awake.

outside, yowls echo,
swaying alongside the wind
before dissipating into the past.
i imagine the claws unleashed as

feline eyes narrow &

sharp teeth bare.

i wonder
who dares to walk unarmed
in the death of the dark.

but perhaps i have been too
naive, for cars still honk as they
roll down the nearby street — and
occasionally, a siren screams.

there are still glimmers of light in
neighboring apartment homes.
maybe in one, a couple
is fighting because both are
exhausted. perhaps in another,
a boy lets his fingers race across the
keyboard, the prize —
a finished english paper so close in sight.

as for the last framed window,
maybe a lonely dog howls
a low mournful sigh because
the air tastes full of melancholy and
brims with undiscovered life.