In his fear of solitude, he made us.

Fearing eternity, he gave us time.

I hear his white cane thumping

Up and down the hall.

I expect neighbors to complain, but no.

The little girl who sobbed

When her daddy crawled into her bed

Is quiet now.

It’s quarter to two.

On this street of darkened pawnshops,

Welfare hotels and tenements,

One or two ragged puppets are awake.