My Nights

My Nights
I take a walk outside to get away from your absence.
The air is almost cold, but I sit on the old bench,
watching the lights go down in the neighborhood.
It’s nights like these I realize that the silence
is only for lack of listening:

a low hum in the sky, crickets chirping, a bird crying,
and somewhere a crowd is laughing, I think.
The sounds are muffled, like the footsteps of shadows.
I don’t hear you, but a car passes in the distance, then another.
The clock chimes and I don’t see you.

The streetlamps uncover only a few at this hour:
a student and a skateboarder, windless trees and empty benches.
All are empty; all are stagnant; all except mine.
My eyes are watchful; my skin is almost cold. And you?
The group I heard before is making their way home.

The moon peaks over their building, and looks me in the eye.
We are old friends. This is not the first night like this:
sitting in a lonely chair, or walking, or bicycling, or sleeping,
pensive or confused. The nights are as many as the stars,
as beautiful as they are black, and as restless as the sounds I hear.

They have the touch of a friend leaving me behind.
These echoes lull me to sleep, while the wonder keeps me awake.
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this (I don’t want to),
the need to speak to myself of the night
when I wanted to tell you.

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Another night poem. It hasn't been edited a lot; it probably needs it. But I like the feel of the poem, because I feel that it really does sum up well the feelings that come out on the subject. I write so many poems at night, but even when I'm not writing, the night is just a pensive time for me, and sometimes a lonely one. So yeah, tell me what you think. How can I make this poem better? Where can I cut out the fluff?