At rest with restless visions of the day,
the day to come when restlessness abates,
I fold the light in subtle shades of gray
behind my resting eyes where vision waits
for that-which-clouds to solemnly disperse
like mist reveals its absence in the lake
as smooth as god removing morning’s curse
or silence in the cries which gods forsake.
I sleep in some precarious embrace
of warmth beneath the presence of the sky
which signifies the darkness I replace
with civil twilight, dreams, and no reply.
Replaced beyond millennia of hope,
I wake into the light through which we grope.

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