Nighthawk

 Catherine Verrilli

I watch the one that is singing Freedom.

It’s far enough away that

I can only see its leaves singing,

winking,

bestowing its graces

on the gloaming world around me.

I see the breeze I cannot feel,

but the comfort,

however small,

is real.

The cry, the longing I hear

is the sound of my heart,

beating:

the sound of the waves,

far away; the laughter of friends

a lifetime ago.

In tonight’s violet melancholy

I have wine, cigarettes, and music –

each of these is friend and ghost, but together

a caricature

of a lively, happy thing.

All I need is a beautiful dress

and my beautiful boy

to lead me, to guide my hips

around the corner, where the fairy lights are,

where we dance barefoot

and drink the stars like champagne.

I put a flower behind my ear.

.