Clarity of Night

Most of my life I've awakened in the wee hours of the night. Usually around 2:00 AM. I've learned not to worry about not sleeping. I often worry about other things, of course, but I know I can do well on very little sleep for a day or two. Last night in the wee hours, I remembered a favorite poem of mine that I posted on another blog a while ago. I thought I'd post it here, because I want to. So here's


Clarity of Night.

Awake again in the
muddle of the night.
Cold.
Ease out of bed.
Stoke the fire with
winter's last pinon.
Thermostat clicks and
wakes the baby.
I give her to her mother and
wait,
then change her and
stand at the window with
her on my shoulder,
her breath on my neck.

Outside late spring snow
falls in the
glow of a lamp,
the flakes mix with
sparks from the sap
filled pine log on the fire.
The up and down
confused.
Deepening drifts
silence the generator that
guards the night, and
pile high on the fence posts and
tree limbs.
One flake too much and
the branch bends
low sheds the
weight
springs back.

I will the dawn
away.
By force of mind,
forbid the glow in the
East from gaining a foothold on
Whirling Mountain.
My daughter stirs,
seeks deeper warmth.
I hear her breath in my ear.

Awake again at two AM.
Reach up with my foot to
silence the
fan that cools the night.
I walk through the quiet
house and onto the
lanai. I face the
sleeping jungle,
Surf crashes at Banyans.
My daughter comes up beside me and
I'm momentarily
embarrassed,
outside, as I am, in my boxers in the
middle of the night.

We stand together
watching the reflection of the
rising moon on the
Royal Palm, the Plumeria, the Kiawe.
Somewhere a Rain Dove calls
just once then falls silent.

She speaks of Yale and
Italy and
Friends she's left
behind.
Silence.
The woo-oo-oo-oo of the dove again.

As my daughter
moves to go
back to her bed, I
give her
a kiss. Then turn
back to the
jungle.

For a very long time I feel her breath
in my ear and
will the dawn away.