i take to the night in cadences unexplored
i do not pioneer or arrive in prime
it feels a sort of slither,
a waltz swung out of time
a dog that catches his own tail
an eighth of a measure
before the metronome breaks the spell.

tonight is a magpie stood in front of a mirror, wondering
how handsome
how black
how near

the wind rushes
(but I do not)
my patience is rewarded
and the city bows at my request,
its green lights flowing
to the emperor in my chest.

of the somnambulisms that I wander there is one I cherish most,
its path a plain, pinched charity to its walking, waking host.

Scott Baker, PBM