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.