2nd St. Compline
BY ANDY EATON
Already, it’s time. Blue evening air
warm as a kiss before bed. Goodnight,
Little Bear, Ursa Minor
stars like pearls of steam.
Goodnight, lamppost stout above the lawn.
Goodnight, lamplight.
Goodnight, redbud drowning in blossoms.
Goodnight, blossom.
Stones in the gravel path
still as bald heads on a thousand monks,
ready or not,
it’s time.
Safe home, map of “Ireland North,” framed
and straddling the mantle.
So long, leather briefcase, upright
beside the desk.
Tobacco-sunburst Telecaster, quiet
in your case, Later on.
See you, Yixing clay
teapot in the cave of the kitchen cabinet.
I’m off. Take it easy,
little tiger,
dust across your plush ears,
with me since I was born.
