Collaboration

I lamplight your nest at half distance 

to morning, I lean into darkness.

Maybe you creche me, release 

me to my whittled self. I hear cars

depart, come back. You might

sense them from a higher place, metallic 

insects along gray roadways, 

the stops and starts of staccato traffic.

I hear shadows mourn the pictures 

I bring home that neglect the light. 

I whisper my troubles to the pastel sheets. 

The open windows draw me home. 

Traffic trebles its collective way. 

I hear shadows. I lamplight your nest. 

Perhaps you creche me, return me 

to my whittled self.