Four AM
At four AM I wake to the low grumbling
of a street sweeper cleaning Castle
Street’s cracked pavement. The window
sparkles moisture – early morning condensing
against glass. The sweeper continues onward,
it’s roaring dulls as it crawls through
the neighborhood. Somewhere, an ambulance cries.
I roll away from it; I find you, waking
from some dream I’ll never understand.
You re-wrap me in your arm, cover
my bare shoulders with the blanket and drift
back to sleep. At the foot of the bed,
your giant maine coon stretches.
I am still and quiet against you, oddly
aware of my breathing and how the rising
and falling, rising and falling, of my chest
must feel against the arm draped across me.
Outside, the ambulance and the sweeper
have not stopped. The clock has not rested.
The world is still whirling by
and we are here, lying alone
together in slow motion
waiting for morning.
