Poem: My Night with the Sages

by Bob Schwartz


My Night with the Sages

I found their numbers
Six, sixty-three.
Dispensing wisdom
Demanding action
Citing authority.
And talking
And talking.
How could they possibly
Help with the night?
Lost in loud logic
Where is the comfort or distraction?
But I called anyway
And they came.
To uneasy free floating
In the bleak
They added gravity
And light
Not quite
In reach
But there.
To sleep.