Unforgiving sleep and ask no more questions
About tomorrow: Silence from me, quiet
From the air in the cypress trees, holding their
Fragile and primitive green. There are certain
Stolen things in the noiseless part of evening,
The promise before it’s broken or the seed
Buried or the switch on the wall (“off”). Catalyst
And cunning, I forget each time what the now
Knows, desiring change and so hungry for it
That I rush to it like I know what it will be.
But when this is over, and whatever it is
Has come, and I awaken, I’ll see it was
Gently here, and told me so, even as I slept.
Confused? You should be. Every chance you get.
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