Beneath the Covers
Daylight
yet under a brooding cover
night sleeps on
dark-eyed in its lightless limbo.
Many are dead this day,
dead to the waking world.
They lay their lives down
on a churned-over ground
wounded by a lingering dark.
What to do
shall we shake em,
wake em?
No, God forbid!
They are still barefoot
in an endless dream.
If we stir them
their eyes will be milky
and swirl as lonely
as any-time lost cosmos...
those still sleeping
may be cranky and cross,
most unforgiving
to we the hardly living.
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