single-digit hours
while saxophonists play the final set
bartenders announce last call
bleary new mothers quiet newborns with the breast
truckers chatter on radios to stay awake
I write in the moments before sleep
when desire overpowers caution
and what is true holds sway over what is real
I write at the threshold of “tonight” and “this morning”
realizing the new day without relinquishing the old
living in the in-between time, when all things are possible
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