simplicity

Lying on my bed, where all
I need is the circular whirring fan –
and the rectangular ceiling light,
to tell me time is passing, and that
I will be skinned if found awake.

The alarm-clock beats one-twenty-eight
to the rhythm of the fan, to the
memory of the metronome from today’s violin lesson,
to the laugh of a riddle my friend asked me
earlier today –

Awake, in the deep of the night,
I find a simplicity I enjoy –
between the fragrant pages of delicate
poetry and the one-point-five line spacing
of the new Microsoft word, and the thoughts of a friend,
awake now too,
beamed to me across cyberspace.

It is the simplicity of switching off work-lamps
and staring into the dark tropical sky while
wondering if the number of stars I count
will be more than the number of sheep
I count, should I try to sleep now;

To this simple silence I escape,
the hum of the fan my companion,
casting the symmetrical flowers of day aside
and sitting down on the curb that night brings

watching the traffic pass.