My mind's a mess.
Words, 50 + years of distractions, a well-
practiced self-flagellation.
It wakes me at 5:15.
By the rising sun I wrestle my own demons;
nothing is won because
nothing is.
I turn and nestle my head against
the fur on your chest,
that well worn breast, with its
well-practiced heart.
I smell your breath,
feel the folds of my own skin,
imagining
us as creatures in a cave; along with kin
we struggle to save
ourselves for one more day.
We, a species among many species made of
the same stuff: dogs,
cats, pigs, birds, snakes, apes and we --
each mutely fulfilling our own tasks to ensure
the larger harmony. What
makes we we
is our dexterity. Strike
a match.
Evolution burns
forward.
The earth turns,
patiently.
To this, I fall asleep, content to live
one more day.
