Confession

These days I go to bed
when the sun glows through
the window shade.
I do not miss an inch of night.
I relish the darkness, take
pleasure in starlight. Night
is the time when secrets slice
holes in our bellies and step
out into the world.
There are always secrets
stirring in the shadows,
breaking forth from our skin
only to slip back
inside us at dawn.

These days the night has
seized me with smoky fingers,
bringing me home where the
sky is dim and the clocks
whirl hours with sluggish hands.
The click of each second
passing in slow motion.
The yelp of a siren.
The daylight creeping
back on tip-toes,
bleeding dew.

I used to have a bedtime.
I was a teenager when I first
saw the stars leave before
I slept, have welcomed this
sight more easily with age

There is a curious kind of youngness
in choosing the lateness of slumber.
Over the years I have become
like a baby who wakes
when she should be sleeping,
sucking dew from the air
like milk.