Chilly and moist,
I hear an orchestra of highway and television.
The neighborhood below and beside me
generates the soundtrack.

The stars visible from the roof
are few and far between
above the clouds
but still
there are so many more
than when I grew up
in Manhattan.

I watch them
in my sleeping bag
as I will my eyes to close.
They are simply not ready.
Perhaps the light excites my imagination.
In my youth, there was so much more pollution.
In my youth, I could never sleep outside.
Of course, in my youth, my family had air conditioning.

Sweat trickles down the small of my back.
Sleep will come.
Hopefully, tonight.