reading 4 am the Window by Tony Birch, I want to call him on the phone, let the poet know…

restless after a bout of strange dreams drinking hot chocolate reading poetry by a writer acclaiming sweet light of early mornings I want to call him on the phone let the poet know I knowbut don't have his number and who knows if he would answer having been dead for decades a mouse scuttles across the floor (we avoid eye contact) the garbos wake the street disposing of all I cannot fathom