Refugee from the Moon

After you left
I lay on your bed
Under the blanket that
Looks like a wedding dress.
It was quiet but then
The ceiling squeaked
As a stranger upstairs
Tried on Hawaiian shirts.
A hundred thousand women
Latched their bras
As their lovers
Spelunked under beds and
In between sheets
For dusty socks.
Everyone sleepily sniffed each other
Before beginning the day in earnest.
I was the only one still in bed,
Looking out the window,
No longer part of the world but
A refugee from the moon.
Nighttime was extinct but I was
The last remnant of something nocturnal.
While everyone rushed
On sidewalks firmer
Than last night’s kisses,
I lay in bed, transcribing in my memory
The faint history of midnight:
Bed sheets had lifted and lowered
Like the waves of a rough sea.
People said things in the dark
They could never admit in light.
A million kisses crystallized,
The most ever on a single night
In our famous city,
But no one knew and no one recorded it.
Only I stayed in bed
Recounting the intricate tabulations
Of how many times taxis screeched in the night,
How often rats dared to peer at stars,
How many undercover embraces ended
On creaky fire escapes.
This was my mission in life:
To record the unnoticed facts
Of the night, as if anyone cared.