Good Night – Jacob T. Reilly

                       Good Night

The light that dithers there, the moon man dancing
In pools of his own thought, the reader of those
Smudge-dated newspapers (there in the park,
You see him, on that bench there, overwrought
By the obituaries, too too many
To count and all now gone), the purple peacocks,

And the half-sounds of those lovers in their fits
Sometimes of wrath, others of passion that seep
Through my walls, waking me at nights, and I
Listen for the climax, dying down, and silence
Of the sounds, saving for the muffled collapse
Of my cloud-castles, before I drift back to

Reality: those palaces of people’s
Desires, of people’s lives, in which we live
And die, those castles of our hopes, strongholds
Of passing passions, homes we come back to
For rest from life’s dreamy tedium and drudge,
The hovel of that man there in the park—

Are each one signs of life, our daily bread.
The moon man dances gleefully. Why don’t you
Watch him? The peacock may lend you its eyes
Of passion flower purple. Then you can read
The news like the park man. Watch; listen; read;
And wake in the cold morning ready for today.

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