Let’s look together, in the tight, dark corners.
Look in the tough, raw twilight--
Once, I thought I found a bed, under a dome of stars.

I tried to sleep.

The world is always fresh. Everyone is always looking
for somewhere to sleep.

Sleep is a sort of end, and the stars are
a high, steady beginning. If you  find
our  new bed, or even a pile of straw hay, tell me.
    We’ll find a bed, make it, and lie in it.

A nest is a new beginning, and dust is the worn down end.
Let’s look high, in the open, bright wings.
No-- We don’t have to find dust. It’s right here.
    Don’t cough. We’ll nest  in the sky.

Sunrise is a beginning, and sunset is an end.
Eventually,  both lose meaning.
We’ll forget to look, once we find our bed--
    Once we find it, we can rest.