Dear God of Open-All-Night,
if I may be so familiar,
though we might not know
enough about each other
to say anything profound.
But here we are together chugging down the track,
as if driven by an old steam boiler.
The whistle to announce our coming,
though we never quite arrive.
My weary mouth a canyon of yawns,
which, rest assured, I mean nothing by.
Still, how happy to be in your presence.
no matter how estranged I feel in my bed
where I have lain so often and so long.
You, as forbidding still as you were to my ancestors,
the way you whooshed past their doors
and bid them dim their light for some uneasy sleep.
But thank you for this wakefulness you offer in its place,
so I may grapple with myself
as Jacob once wrestled with the Angel.
Let me stay here, but at a safe distance,
lest you set the plants ablaze though
you will do what you do.
As I join this line
of those who remain wide awake,
and call what we missed tonight, not a loss,
but a downpayment on forever.
