Miles, at Two in the Morning

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Miles, at Two in the Morning

By Louis McKee

A muted horn is sad
at two in the morning
when it is so cold outside

you are chilled standing
at the window. A woman
standing on the corner isn't

real, but must be enough;
you can see her breath,
swells of cigarette smoke

hanging for only a few seconds
beside her face, just long enough
for you to read the words,

get into the conversation.

There is so much you want
to tell her, so much you need--

you need her, but she is sad
sounds from a muted horn.
It is two in the morning,

so cold outside that you are
chilled standing at the window,
desperate breath on the window.

A muted horn is cold
at two in the morning
when it is so sad outside.