By Richard Risemberg
for the sun will rise
regardless of our sorrows
and the sky lightens
over black shadows of roofs
while in the arrayed windows
of nightbound neighbors
here and there a dim lamp glows
the sleepless in beds
study their blameless ceilings
or plunge their faces into
the chattering screens
of TVs and telephones
endless earnest shouts
a wrestling match of dour ghosts
while dawn blooms unseen above
now is the moment
escape into the thinning
dark that’s neither night
nor day, time’s axis grinding
when all, just for an instant,
is at long last yours
between two heartbeats
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Richard Risemberg was born to a Jewish-Italian family in Argentina, then dragged to LA to escape the fascist regime. He's spent the last few decades exploring the lost corners of the American Dream. He has published extensively; the full list of credits is at http://crowtreebooks.com/richard-risemberg-publications/