They’ve trained us so well
we believe in midnight
magic, a dividing line.
After a while we cannot recall
that the mind
makes midnight, not the world.
No different than
2:47 AM, it moves
all around the earth. Call it 
a boundary because you need one.
Only reason. It makes you feel
heroic to breach it or to 
honor it, depending on 
what you desire. Fly in
across that line to stop 
a bomb, a train, a love
affair. Fly in across
that line to advance
a dream, a peace, a war
on hammering sound and
thickened old blood. 
Time is one of those things
that’s real but not
as we have been led to
imagine; that fact sounds
so pedestrian it might get killed
as it crosses the street toward
midnight. Toward what we 
have been taught to believe.
The body, the belief lingering 
between life and death. You lie 
there thinking interstitially
right up to 2:47 AM when 
you finally fall asleep, flat
on your back, mouth open,
inhaling, exhaling, hanging
out of time completely.