In the shadows of the night
we see the darkness;
in the darkness
we see the light.
My concrete steps are twenty
yards from the interstate North.
In the tiny hours before dawn,
flashing amber signal
outlines exhaust.
Waiting for disaster
while the hearth cools
before some dozing
love of what is fair.
On guard against sleep,
watching the produce trucks
ride a ribbon of death
dredged up from a world
so long past, it was reptile ruled.
Supplies move at night
so no one sees
them come
and go.
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