Did I walk? Did I fly? I will just sleep
Did I walk? Did I fly? I will just sleep.
I have done the homework of living.
I showed up with my heart on time, every time.
I have been both the architect and the weary janitor of my own days.
So why does the ceiling still leak?
Why does the warmth drain so quickly from the room?
The shaking is not from the wind,
but from having followed the blueprint for a shelter perfectly,
I still stand shivering within it
and the cold comes in anyway,
from somewhere I cannot name and cannot find.
Perhaps no wire is crossed.
No bucket left out that should have been brought in.
Perhaps the only thing left is to wait
for a different season,
to watch the light change at the window,
to lay down the tools. Not in surrender.
In exhaustion.
I walked. I ran.
Perhaps I must simply sleep for the right time,
and hope, against the grey at the window,
that a better day is a real place,
and not just another name for the patience
that files you to the place where the nerve is.
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