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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Working Nights

The night keeps waking me.
It rattles its dishes.
Where do all the sounds go
in the day?
Why does pain pay so many visits
in the darkness?
Who rides the buses at night?
The trains, sounding like wistful owls?
My sister heard funerals in their whistles.
I listened for hers,
but it was quiet.
A sweet quiet like the face
of a sleeping child.

With so much going on at night
you would think
we should sleep in the day,
become a nocturnal species.
Call friends and declare
there’ll be no more of that loneliness
in black terminals,
the confusion of what city you’re in,
dreams that flood your pillow,
prayers that lose track
of what they’re saying.

I could take walks in the moonlight
with you.
Never see sorrow on your face.
Listen, as I’ve never listened before
to things in your heart,
and hold you so tightly
as we dance until dawn.

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