nightingales

No nightingales find me here,

No shadows fall, because,

quite simply,

No light shines

and I sit,

undefined,

and shapeless, even,

but strong and

given to stronger

words and dreams of

the kind they once

built empires over,

and on top of, and,

perhaps - though

I can think of no

examples now -

beneath,

those dreams like some

overhanging marble temple

roof,

Acropolis,

before those marbles

got waylaid or

calmly liberated

someplace else in

which they find

no more praise

than can exist within

the stapled glossy guide

of some museum

or other

and I sit in the

dark and the silence

and smile, and

try to tally the number of

those before me who've done the same

and held the same thoughts and

sought the same

night-bird song,

before I give

that up and

just plain enjoy the

moment, and accept

beyond those further

calculations

that it is mine alone,

and claim it, eagerly,

just by fitting it in

Sunday-night-best words.