In the morning,
I wait for it to be fairer.
In the night,
I wait for it to be darker.

Between the inertia
of waking and sleep,
I stitch my costumes—
one for the light,
one for the shadows,
and many
for the moments in between

Last night,
I watched stars fall
through my window—
small, burning fragments
of some distant silence.

I thought,
in the hush of morning,
I could gather them,
hold them
like forgotten dreams.

But daylight came,
and they were gone—
dissolved
into the ordinary.