The Matins

At 3 a.m. it comes to me;
the frenzy of the rhyme
in midnight madness liberty
set to the wind and chime.
 
I'm intimate with outer space
and I.S.S. up high
gleaming in an orbital pace
the shooting stars should try.  
 
Just what the fuck is with their rush
of plummeting to burn
through such a dark and tranquil hush
where thoughts are free to churn?
 
A flashing mote within the eye
of providential sight,
when birdsong starlight seems to sigh...
before it bids goodnight ✨