I’ll call for a pocket share

To hold my belongings

For the moment

I am gone

In my thougths

But still in the room

I will be back

No now

But soon

Uptight and cheap

Were the words

That drifted

Across the cafe

As she said it

With grand disdain

For both the moment

And the idea

Of what she had left

And what had given her

A cheap protea

The night closes

With a shut door

It will resume again

When it opens

Once more

The midnight swoon

Starts with a sliver of a moon

Rising in the west

As the desert dust settles

Over the mountians

And the purple fades to blue

It’s the kind of night

That make

Dreams come true

Woozy light

From the morning sun

Living up

And letting go

From the nights

Long confused dreams

So it seems

That it all begins

When the woozy light

Comes through the window

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