2:00 AM
No dogs bark at this hour, Desolate, an abandoned field burnt by the sun, Dry shaving curls on a workshop floor long unswept. Harsher than sawing wood, a motorcycle Rips along a distant road, popping Explosions in small packets sputtering Bits of shrapnel, broken teeth, Busted rivets, chopped up brittle, pits, tracers, short-lived sparks. Slowly silence thickens, concrete putty sealing joints and crevices Of a room deafening to the slightest vibration, Hardening gradually, spiral candy. The world is asleep, I am awake. Passing time heaves, a resting animal. Dimly, a behemoth of swarming thoughts like fireflies drifts past. I wait steadfastly, a metal tool seeking the warm grasp of a skillful hand. Now is the moment to enter into stillness Deep as cloisters enfolding underground rivers, Delicate as a tissue by the slightest cough perforated. Before the smallest particle of noise tears like flint into gossamer darkness, I will take long draughts, cupping my hands descending as birds into the springs of tranquility. Gonzalinho da Costa A shorter version of this poem was originally published at This Dark Matter. Gonzalinho da Costa—a pen name—teaches at the Ateneo Graduate School of Business, Makati City, Philippines. He is a management research and communication consultant. A lover of world literature, he has completed three humanities degrees and writes poetry as a hobby.
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May 2025
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