One Cracked Egg

Nothing separates at 3:21 AM. Everything runs together like an egg with a broken yolk, or a body and brain refusing rest, wandering like a phantom through a darkened room, a wounded family walking on egg shells through a relentless, creaking house. Two more hours and the alarm will bring A new day to this day without ending. The two will become one cracked egg with a double yoke, plowing the fields of time together, step by faithful step, encouraged along by the crack of the plowman’s whip.