(an ekphrastic poem based on the painting Nighthawks by Edward Hopper)
Four solemn faces, doused in gold, like moths to flame, seek warmth from the cold. Darkness leers, but harsh light shields these lonely creatures from their feelings untold.
One diner desolate, a waiter old, and three weary visitors are portrayed. The scene unfolds. Most eat under the sunlight, unlike these nighthawks who flocked from their households.
Some loneliness darkens hearts like blindfolds; nighthawks’ hearts aren’t exceptions. The woman red and bold, the man in shadows, and another man with a cigarette in his hold
are isolated together. They are controlled and defined by solitude. They don’t belong. No mold fits them. They only have a diner, each other, and lonesome souls unconsoled.