n i g h t w a s h u n g r y
G I L E S G O O D L A N D
O the night was hungry and silence clung
and the houses edged a bruise
that infects all neighbourhoods in time.
O the clouds were in pieces
and the sun unset
vicinities under the weight of observation.
O the people still skittled about the park
and the forest was stiffening
ducks, turning them the colour of lichen.
O words massed into some ponderable horse
and the moon apportioned
the streetlight to outbid the stars.
O the roomlit marigolds crumpled
and under earth's shadow
with its thick nib night struck out another day.
© crossconnect, inc 1995-2006
published in association with the
university of pennsylvania's
kelly writers house