4 A.M.
(listen to the poem, read by the author)
The hour of fog;
between fleeing devils and rising
sun you sit. The neon lights
glow their brightest here,
caressing you in divine breath
amidst the quiet of night.
Your park: dotted with dim street lamps–
like a comforting mother
whispering to child as they rest–
peacefully unaware.
This is what the eighties were like,
don’t you know? draped
in sweet smooth synth penetrating
even the air; an absolute peace like the world
had never known.
The fog rises, and you find yourself
slipping back inside your house;
sanctuary of well-worn books and begotten dreams,
listening to the angels as they ascend.
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About the Author
Noah Fischbach is a poet and recent graduate of Capital University in Columbus, Ohio. Noah is neurodivergent (autistic) and has been published in several print and digital journals, such as The Sigma Delta Rectangle, Ekstasis, The Waiting Room, and Folkways Press.