February And Beyond

Another Late-Remembered Bin

Out in late
fog! How silent drape
ghosts round and through.

Cold rests a blunt on neck
not dealing doom nor nick.

Swathes,
in rays' arrays,
are empty stages.

Streetlights orange giant stars,
first lights of universe, so close,
striving to ionize their space,
reanimate magnetic mysteries.

That notion aliens me away.
I turn and push the bin wheels to their place -
the trundle and the bang.

Quietude resumes;

and then, as if asleep,
I hear deeper song,
below all silences.

..