Little Losses

London felt empty in the dark
The buildings lit to lines and shadow
The quiet settled in me
Until my silent vicinity
Was interrupted by
The 5am sounds of the hotel
A moaning door
A high-pitched hinge
The groans of many occupied mattresses
Like an Orchestra tuning up
(The rumbling porter would play the double bass, of course
Accustomed as he is to heavy burdens)
The building was colossal with unseen moving parts
And I was earwig little
Scuttling through the bright spaces
I was the least of it
So small as to be nothing
And fine in my tininess
Relishing the miniature
I was 100 feet tall once!
I want to cry
Burnt alive for my vast desires
But the witch in me survives
She sighs spells to try
And restore the enormity
Of what was before
She mouths and sounds emerge
But not words
Her magic gone
She can only whisper
And perhaps it is not her at all
But the rustling of free newspapers
The rushing of distant showers
The breathing of sleeping strangers
The hissing of processed air
The murmur of a new dawn
And the hush of moving on