by Christopher Raley
The safest feeling is late at night.
She is asleep and the boys are asleep.
Diz and the Count walk slowly back to the land
and I would follow for a little longer.
The house fan hums for cool air at last
and the crickets are dim beyond the screen.
The safest feeling is late at night with Diz
playing as if the notes are of the hour.
Sidewalks have cooled and lawns
have had all that they can drink
for the next day. My throat recedes
with the cool and my eyes droop down
while the Count sits firm on the bench
and his fingers feel for holes in foundation
hidden but sure, unknown but heard when filled.
And my eyes droop down because
the safest feeling is late at night
falling asleep in yellow accents of dark.
She is unknown and I am unknown,
but the boys will wake to find me.
And she and I will move again to audiences
along the breadth of our distance observed.
And we will count up time like loose change
discarded on the nightstand and forgotten.