Ronald Moran, “Backward from Midnight”

Ronald Moran
BACKWARD FROM MIDNIGHT

I am trying to flutter my syllables, like wings
of nervous moths
at street lamps on intersections, but, maybe,
I should

try arranging my lines differently, so as
to give
them more room to breath hypnotically
before

my alarm commences its litany of beeps,
while
I count backward from midnight, and, O,
how the rails

on this old (and nearly) condemned bridge
on State 123
will burst into harmony, as if a bow from
the spheres

crossed rails, and if not celestial sounds, then
crepuscular,
to stir our black bears into a dance of frenzy
and delight.

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