Tightropes

5:00AM in the suburbs:

Oleander moon wilts in the aubergine flames
of morning, dripping 
with frosty haze of first light.
Warm feet flee from icy tiles like soldiers in retreat,

eager to nestle into their goose-down coffins,
 make
love with Death’s cousin as their cell phones snooze.

5:00AM, my eyes open, soaking in a bleach-stained sky
.
Light seeping through rosebush lashes, 
tangled in thorny
restlessness
 as our great cantaloupe, the womb of Today,

dangles along the strings of the horizon,
 balancing
above our colony, wondering why
 She walks her tightrope
so diligently only to be greeted by the tired eyes
 of a silent
audience, waiting
 for an escape from 
the dark.