There can be black night poems
Soft poems in watchman’s stick
Tapping hollows of road’s earth,

And in fillings of a road’s hollow
By continuing blackness of night
Till the gold of sun fills like teeth.

Our poems depend parasitically
On the  watchmen tapping road
In path hollowed out from sleep.

We are trying  variation on night
A sleep that is gentle white peace
From receding watchman boots.

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