My little dog puts his front paws up
on my bed to wake me at 4:00 A.M.
I don't mind at all —
the day begins with this small act of mercy —
his need to go out
for business and a biscuit
and for me
the first of the day's perceiving.
It is the hour of the nocturnal animals,
the ubiquitous rabbits,
the solitary red fox,
the toad sitting under the street light
waiting for a moth to fly by,
the night crickets
which pitch
varies with each turn,
and the "night owl"
whose lamp is lit
on the second floor.
Who's there awake at this hour?
the collegian cramming for the first period class?
a nurse who's needed to relieve the night shift?
an insomniac who dozes by day
then tosses and turns the night away?
the parent who soothes the frightened child or
the grown child who consoles the frailing parent?
a worrier who prays the comfort restoring rosary?
a loner who's afraid of the dark
or the couple who have argued through the night.
My matins prayer is a prayer of gazing
and an upward sending of every good wish.
