Midnight sparrow

Another night--
commiserating with the ceiling
who I´ll be in the morning,
which self I´ll leave
slobbering on the pillow.

And the cars that pass by--
they keep going somewhere,
past the cemetery, past the stop light,
past the self they left,
waving in the driveway.

A stranger´s piano music--
measured in kilobytes
instead of common time,
does its best to ease
this dilemma for the night.

But my soul always sliding--
out that window,
where a midnight sparrow chirps,
takes wing, always double
in a world of singularities.