The Backyard at 5a.m.

The wind howled
But I couldn’t remember
The first pain

The color of the sky
Over rolling hills
Purple and black
Then

Black and blue

Seemed to call out
As spindly branches
Whipped back and forth

From a dead tree.

A single light
From the porch of a miser
Flicked off

And on again

His house
On top of the hill
Is too far
For seeing clearly

Like that first pain

The backyard at 5a.m
In winter

The cherry of a cigarette
Looks electric
And the inside
Of a coffee cup

Looks like
A bottomless pit