Waking at 3:45 am
it's still dark,
dark codes flying
in milliseconds from
dark rooms lit only
by monitor screens,
fun for paid boy
hackers brilliant with
their narrow set of skills
pay with a bonus, 
fun, to fuck with
the lives of people
they do not know,
enemies in the shadows
of those dark rooms,
enemies who must
be agitated, stopped
from dark rooms in the
blue light of the screen.

Their targets awake to
the stillness of madrugada
spreading total silence except
for that familiar voice,
the same cock calling
at his appointed hour
in the distance.

The absence of sound is
like a moon reflected
on still water.
The night sounds
like a poem.