After midnight

The night grows still and quiet,
its oppressive midnight air
tempered by the softest breeze,
no more than hinted at; gently
caressing the perplexed brow
of a man who knows not how
to sleep, although the day’s dead
weight bears down on him,
to hold him between thoughts
of what he might have done
(but differently) and hopes
of what he might yet do, if time
permits and opportunity arises
like the sun, presaging dawn.
.