poem by Dave Morrison

The wind hisses through
the trees like a great dark
snake coiling around the
house, patient and

The green leaves of summer
are rattling brown husks, ghosts
crouch on roof ridges and
gnaw acorns, the dim glow
of the streetlights looks like the
lights of a sinking ship.

“Let go,” the night
whispers, “crawl in a
hole and go to sleep…”
but for me the restless
wind that smells of cold
earth and rotting apples is
like strong black coffee
that makes me want to
stay up late so the moon
can watch me through the

These are the nights that we
turn up our collars, these
are the nights when we
haunt our own dreams,
these are the nights when
possibilities hang under
the eaves like bats.