Vertigo

In the midnight there was a brief hiatus
Between sleep and waking up to poetry 
But we had to wait for the morning to rise 
Beyond the dead tree, standing as if alive
Where birds will come for a morning show
When they strut their own new aliveness.

In the interregnum was a breath of noise
And an old heart,  laden with fearful logic 
When the  logic would stare in the curtains
As a   dog's bark night-walks on the road
 Not a rhythmic stick tapping  watchman.

But head turning in a pillow  posited a logic
A new  fearful logic of  the night ,a blank wall
A new green curtain with no street beyond it
With no glowing sky,  no dead tree with birds
That pretended as if it is still alive in the sky.
Poetry had to to wait for the morning to rise.

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