Odd Hours
by Dave Barber

Odd Hours

It’s one AM
When I’m most myself
Even surprised at
The thoughts leaking

Out between the ticks,
Groans to the next
Hour awakens, My

Shadow driving inward toward
Three Am. The last

Thorn is pulled and I
Apply a downy mass

Resting on the Sandia
Mountains, they’re beautiful
Now at 5 Am. My gaze is
Caught in my throat and

Soft cold air touches my skin
Before I have to form
Words and be
Someone social again.