you can still see the glow
of the kitchen light on the third stair
from the top
when I can't keep my eyes closed
and fall on the warm comfort of my bed
I sit on the watching stair
I listen to the soft
blended voices, too soft that
I hear my own breathing
I press my forehead against
the banisters and I see the far end
of the fireplace
I'll usually hear a song being
sang then I'll laugh quietly when partway
the words get messed up
I guess you'd have to be there
to make the humor alive
it's really funny
I'll stay for another while
until I'm finally
tired