Alone and listening

The first thing
these days
after I get home:
a cup of tea
(mint please).

I set the cup near the plants
to watch the steam caress their leaves.
I think they find it erotic.

I watch the sky redden,
then darken
against the sloping horizon,
and the city becomes
a sea of flickering lights
dancing outside my window.

By now I’ve moved on from tea;
something with a kick,
and while Miles takes five
I close my eyes and lean back.

Sometimes,
alone and listening,
staring out into the black
and the ground littered with stars;
sometimes every night is perfect.