When the Nights Are Long
May oboes fringe the roads you roam,
a string quartet arranged around each
intersection and traffic lights timed
to its movements, every car horn
trumpeting the blues. May music line
like invisible staffs the space
between each body. May a choir
harmonize your arrival home,
knife striking a chopping block the slide
of fiddlestick on nylon string,
newscaster’s chatter diminished,
his everynight blather switched for
lullaby, for serenade to shape
your dreams of different days to come.
