Villanelle for a Street Light at 3AM

By David Anson Lee

The light stays on for no one and for all; 

at three, the empty avenue is small. 

A moth keeps striking at the yellow wall.

One taxi turns, then vanishes beyond the mall. 

A newspaper skates the pavement. Nothing calls. 

The light stays on for no one and for all.

One window opens, then goes dark. A fall 

of water runs along the curb. The hall 

of night grows smaller; the avenue is small.

A dog stops where the shadows cross the wall, 

lifts its head, listens, then moves on. No call. 

The light stays on for no one and for all.

By four, the bakery begins its crawl 

toward morning. Trays arrive. The streets are tall 

with silence, and the empty avenue is small.

I leave before the first birds break the pall. 

Behind me, all the dark remains. The light 

stays on for no one and for all; 

at three, the empty avenue is small.

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David Anson Lee is a poet whose work explores memory, mortality, place, and the strange emotional lives of ordinary things. His poems have appeared in The Rush Magazine, Plainsongs, New Contrast, Still Point Arts Quarterly, and other literary journals. His debut chapbook, The Body Keeps Its Inventory in Shadow, is forthcoming from Kelsay Books. He lives in Houston, Texas, where he writes and works in medicine.