Awake
It pleases me to sit awake
And watch the icy street do nothing
And hear the breeze rasping
The final leaves of winter.
Something about the blue tinge
Cast by my block’s lone streetlight
Assures me cold clings to night
The way love and grief cling
To thought: they’ll all back off when day
Returns. For now, my window gives
My world the grid I need:
Six panels bordered in white
Align my view to easy
Coordinates I somehow trust.
Even the party people wobbling
Toward their doors progress
Through discrete vignettes
That end in flashing moments
Of welcome. I wake to learn
I’ve slept. My Kindle’s off-duty
In my blanketed lap. Outside,
There’s nothing to see but sky displaying
the morning and the day’s first cars
Inching their way to work.
• • •
Paul Telles’ poems have appeared in in several digital and print publications, including The Decameron: Stories from the Pandemic and Children, Churches, and Daddies.