Middle night

Coltrane's quiet horn
keeps me company. Loose
leaves of white paper
are shuffled by my feet.

My eyes look past my laptop
screen which dances with
fake lights. A window. I wish
for the sound of heavy rain.

Minutes pass. The song changes
to "Naima". For one quiet second
I can pretend to be in love
and grin at a hard rhythm

slow again.
Eyes closed again.