At night I stand in the street and smoke
among rows of dormant cars, and all dark
save for sporadic twitching television hues
in third floor windows like the last heavy
winks of eyelids fighting sleep. When rain
leaves dry spheres under uncut trees,
when the doors dead-bolted and the
street lamps wane a bit and the neighbors
upstairs stop pushing furniture around,
I stand in the street and spread my arms
wide and smoke facing the line of sky where
a far off forest’s edge cuts into the horizon
and red lit radio towers pulse like postured
strings of Christmas bulbs and the stars all
strain and shoulder each other to be seen.
In the night as breath and smoke converge
and rise I stand centered amid arrested life
and say nothing, dreaming of sleep.
Dutch Godshalk is a poet and playwright living outside of Philadelphia. He holds a BA in English Literature from Arcadia University and currently works as a freelance content writer. In recent years, Dutch has worked as a volunteer for the Philadelphia Writer’s Conference. His poetry has previously appeared in Apiary Magazine.