Midnight is nothing
an old man walking through fog
a mouse climbing barbed wire.
If you walk through the canyon
there are owls, they hoot. There are bats
shuffling among the cactus flowers.
A train could be wrecking on Mars.
Aliens could be sleeping in cactus spines.
Geronimo’s ghost might twist tent pegs
from every flash of heat lightning.
It is this dark summer coolness
pressing against the rattler’s skin.
Midnight is nothing else.
~ Clyde Kessler
Clyde Kessler’s poems have been published in magazines such as Sugar Mule, Barnwood, Pemmican, and Shampoo. He lives in Radford, Virginia with his wife Kendall and their son Alan.
Artwork: Ben Heine