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.