Five O'Clock Vegas Blue

for Frank Sinatra

The barest edge, the latch of early morning,
A paleness beyond all circling faces,
Is the place to stand. The mountains
Stand farther than any horizon could place them,
And hum secrets that are drowned in afternoon.
One long trip to the end of night
After another: taking them all in sequence,
Then finding no roseate peace in the round,
How one must long to step through the window,
Where beyond reflected hotel light bulbs,
A neverending whisper of what amounts to
Always, is stroked by the wing of a passing
Shadow. That’s the key—yes!—to break the
Cycle, make literal what they say about this town,
That when you come here, you slip your watch off:
Was that the locked secret in the coined shade?
Dante was clear-eyed when he got to heaven:
That dawn must have been this kind of blue.


October, 2003