after Annie Dillard

The day is no god,

not in the city, not

in the heat of summer;

the day is only prelude

to the night: Queen

of Africa, home

for the wanderer, lover

of syncopated souls.

The day is no god

though even I, city-

dweller, awake

to the music of light.

Day is a white deity.

We look for a thing

more elemental,

more earthy, less pure.

The city bows to night.

Then offices empty

and bars sing praise

while janitors clean

for the next day’s take.

Then the perfect sleep

while lonely hunters

range the deadpan streets.