It is a hot night in April, and there is light
shedding in from the streetlights outside of my windshield.
There is light sneaking out of people's kitchen windows
and tumbling onto the grass before crawling off
into the blackness. It is a hot night in April, and there is light
here. There is so much light in a world of darkness,
and I can see it all in front of me.

Some nights I sit in the backseat of my car to write poems
because it is quieter here. I am alone with myself.
I can hear the earth breathing, myself breathing, the giggle
of tree leaves in the sky. Some sounds are always there
at the backs of your heals, only loud enough to hear
if you let silence keep you company, only musical
if you let yourself be okay with that.

I am awake. I will be asleep soon.
The days will keep coming, and I will live in them
because that is what I am here to do.
It is a hot night in April, and there is light
here. Light oozing in through every opening.