Repose

The wind, the rain, the wine and tea;
the candlelight and radio
playing jazz instrumentals low...
as quiet nights were meant to be;
with puddle ripples at a glance
waving me from the asphalt drips
as vision through a curtain slips
when I peek at the street askance,
and then the glimmer of the gilt
leads me to the spines of books
to earn eurekas and gadzooks
where all that printer's ink was spilt
as fodder for a midnight mind
in passage to more verse inclined.