Light bulbs in this sea

In early morning the streetlight secretly sucks
hard blue bonbons.  Children asleep in lighted rooms
have let their nightmares trail behind them.
Fathers and mothers having stumbled back to bed
begin to hear the harmony of the place pitching
its vague presence to the almost invisible clouds.

The living swing deep into the earth
shy in the suburban dark. Quietly
the root hammocks creak in the earth. 
The blur of autumn circles the brown hedges
and the apparently still trees.

So only sleepers see how each thing
live and dead sets out from the choked neighbourhood,
how the carpets slip away from under the furniture
and trees abandon dripping piled trinkets;
how families separate swimming upwards past all
light, how essentially atom from atom soars apart.

- David R Morgan