It was the song that brought on
this urgent insomnia
and now you can’t stop humming.
This long after midnight
the city is finally quiet
but for the occasional siren.
You have known that song
for a long time.  It rises,
it slides down, it wails
of a disturbance somewhere.
You might dare to call it romantic
if you’re listening, knowing it may mean
that somewhere passions
have run over the brim
of one or more lives.  No matter
that it may herald death or anger;
when you’re not the target,
in the middle of the night
it’s hard not to stop and strain
to hear it, try to figure out
where it’s going.  It’s not hope,
exactly; instead, a curiosity
about how much is happening
elsewhere in places more alive
than where you are.  As close as you are
to sleep, your eyes on fire, your back
hard and heavy, your breathing
slow, your throat raw
from smoke and fatigue,
when that song starts
you jerk forward in your seat
and are drawn into the night
that is growing longer,
longer, even as it fades.
It’s not the right time for this.
It’s not even your business to care
but you do, somehow,
and that is what keeps you up at night.