I’m no longer concerned
By the visible. It’s the invisible
Which worries me. The butterfly
Knife of silence flicking to life
Behind the blackboard, the shark’s-tooth
Of nothingness tucked between
The constellations of city lights.
This is what keeps me up
At night, lying awake and listening
For that dripping of God’s faucet,
A sound like pigeons pissing
Onto my balcony. Get off!
I want to shout at them,
But then they’re already gone,
Off to keep watch
On the mast of some lonesome fisherman
Who baits lines with his poems.
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