Nocturne

The way a player will recline
soft strumming his guitar
while cicada wheeze beyond outbuildings -

I'd play a note or two,
gently pluck a noun or verb,
give cadence, a lunar tone
to night's recumbence.

Let the bats beat time;
I will articulate certain chords
at the knuckles of phrases.
I will predicate nothing
but soundings, shallow soundings
on the silk drum of deaf ears.

Rodriguez without the symphony,
more a Mexican peasant -
desert winds wafting tumbleweed
to the blind bark of coyotes.

Let me prick the sky with cacti needles-
there's a light on the other side
peppered like my conscience.

I'll drown from the seepage of pinholes-
a billion eyes blink,
spilling unseen dimensions.

Let them fall, let them stream
meteors from my godless cosmos.
Moths have eaten holes in the firmament-
it has hung too long in God's wardrobe,
sieve of heaven holding nothing
but tatters of light leaking into darkness.