Grave-shift workers reach Zen-like focus
That sometimes amplifies noises -
Pecans thwacking the tin roof,
And squirrels scrambling after them -
Before everything dumbs down
Into the silent sea of sleep.
The motorcycles revving
Their guttural voices
Thick with machismo
Rumble into dreams as thunder
From the wedges of towering nimbus.
The neighbors arguing,
The dogs yip-yapping in the yard,
And cats yowling under the house
As they each fight over territory,
All are lifted into dreams,
Like so many alien abductions
And become the shadow play
Of conflicts my soul is engaged in.