MODIGLIANI'S HOUR

Daylight rescues
a sharpened skeptical pen
from a laundered
morning's open shirt
my pea jacket is pawned
yet ready for pick-up
my starlit eyelashes
rehearses my new play
staring at a print
of Modigliani
by the jalousie windows
where the cat slips
inside my pocket poetry
delays my August holiday
of abstracted absences
a portrait in blue
from a styptic face
in crayon of a sated pale hour
crashing on a distracted time.