Collected Poems of John Holmes
Holmes, John A., Jr.
2002
Billingham street [Our street]
Billingham street [Our street]
At half past midnight crickets sing As though the song were everything, And night for singing it so long, So dark, so cool, that only song Could send a deep and deeper sleep To the life a hundred houses keep. Prom under windows opened wide A leafy darkness blows inside. Breath for sleepers in their beds Is dark and ringing round their heads. Your sleep, it says, is not the same As not awake. Its other name Is not death, either, though a knife; The back edge of the blade of life. And peace, it says, is cool, and dark, And sure as moisture down the bark Of trees on lawns beyond the light, All shadowed almost out of sight. But knowing night-time will not last, The crickets' song is almost fast. And certain that you will not wake, The crickets sing for singing's sake. | |