Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Peter Boyle

IN THE SMALL HOURS

IN THE SMALL HOURS

IN THE SMALL HOURS

It’s three am in the morning
of a day you won’t enter for so many hours.
Where you are
yesterday’s sunlight still bathes your feet as you walk
and tonight hearing your voice
I worried that one day
I’ll lose my images of all those I love.
Outside the city’s still restless:
taxis alert and shiny as golden birds
waiting for the crumbs of dawn.
At fifty-five I know so little how to live.
In cafes across this city
lovers still hold hands
and cups balance on the edges of tables.
Darkness falls around me like soft snow.
Beside the narrow bed
my night-light is staring right into me.
I will hold your voice inside me as long as I can.
When I sleep you’ll go on walking
through a steady explosion of white flowers.
Close

IN THE SMALL HOURS

It’s three am in the morning
of a day you won’t enter for so many hours.
Where you are
yesterday’s sunlight still bathes your feet as you walk
and tonight hearing your voice
I worried that one day
I’ll lose my images of all those I love.
Outside the city’s still restless:
taxis alert and shiny as golden birds
waiting for the crumbs of dawn.
At fifty-five I know so little how to live.
In cafes across this city
lovers still hold hands
and cups balance on the edges of tables.
Darkness falls around me like soft snow.
Beside the narrow bed
my night-light is staring right into me.
I will hold your voice inside me as long as I can.
When I sleep you’ll go on walking
through a steady explosion of white flowers.

IN THE SMALL HOURS

Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère