[John Riley]

Revision II

Night Call

In the night, in the fog,
at the city creek's bridge rail
I begin to sing.

Every long sound from my throat
shifts the trees as birds flee.
I feel them wondering why is there such a song here.

I sing on through the night.
Across the way, people come out of homes.
Some cry and hold out their arms,
some bring sleepy children to hear the song.

Others, of course, are upset
that their night has been changed from a hush
to hearing the wingless man singing the song
that does not rise from where
the wide-winged loon would make its call.


***


Revision

Night Call

In the night, in the fog,
at the city creek's bridge rail
I begin to sing.

Every long sound from my throat
shifts the trees as birds flee.
I feel them wondering why is there such a song here.

I sing on through the night.
Across the way, people come out of homes.
Some cry and hold out their arms,
some bring sleepy children to hear the song.

Others, of course, are angry
that their night has been changed
by the wingless man singing the song
that does not rise from where
the wide-winged loon would make its call.

***

Others, of course, are angry
that their night changed to having to hear
the wingless man singing the song
that does not rise from where
the wide-winged loon would make its call.


***


Night Call

In the night, in the fog,
at the city creek's bridge rail
I begin to sing.

Every long sound from my throat
shifts the trees as birds flee.
I feel them wondering why is there such a song here.

I sing on through the night.
Across the way, people come out of homes.
Some cry and hold out their arms,
some bring sleepy children to hear the song.

Others are angry, of course,
that their night changed from the tedium
to hearing the wingless man singing the song
that does not rise from where
the wide-winged loon would make its call.