the owl

if I listen long enough,
the words will come
or the rough lullaby of the port
will lull the eluded sleep
into a false sense of security
so I may consume it

But you were never a sleeper,
and I wasn't either.
who could be among these
sirens of childhood and whistle-blowing adults
with the children who stay up so late
given sugar past their
bedtime

Another beat cop changes shift
and I perch orange-lit and glorious
for all Seattle to see
gazing through glass at
three branches reaching up up up
marionette strings
anchored somewhere in the sky

oh I am my mother's child
the moon is full and she tugs
at my veins
whispering something dark and sweet
and silver-blue