After Robert Hayden

Unable to sleep, or pray, I stand
By the window looking out
Stars excommunicated, the sky, faithless, black
Children in torn pants and shirts devouring
Air for oxygen, for food, and
A woman suckles a pup at her breast
Her newborn clawing at naked feet

Unable to pray, or pretend, I wish
That change comes with blinks
But, I am, I am a prisoner of logic
And reality is the way I left it
So I set the table, like you, for three
In case another joins me from the street
I won’t eat, though, I won’t eat
Until you come back