The streetlight grays my blinds familiarly in the night, every night. Across the yard, in a field of dumpsters, a scrap of metal hits the asphalt, rings out & carries like that first pristine glockenspiel note. I've slept so many times since I tried to name the light. You offered one I refused over & over. I was so wrong. The light rippling through is moonlight.
- This poem takes its title from the Jimi Hendrix song of the same name.