The Gift of the Night

By Vincent R. Pozon

The skin sees the shape of heat,
fans only make the charcoal glow,
the metal gate is like the sole
of an iron, I put ice cubes
on the bed the dogs lie on.

As I sleep, the night exhales,
cools the water in the plumbing.

Upon waking, I splash my face,
and it is a bristling comfort.
I shut my eyes and treat myself
to what is like a morning prayer.

It is warm after a while though,
I exhaust what the night provides
in seconds, but it is enough,
enough to face the day with.