The man I saw yesterday playing gin

Slumps mumbling on the bed edge,

His brain bleeding,

Right arm twitching in lamplight

As his daughters stare

From the doorway.

I catch his quickening

Pulse

But can no longer look except out the window,

Where the moon has not yet risen

And the ditchdiggers have gone home

And cars stream across concrete,

Their headlight glow

Brighting out the stars.