In the time before sleep,
between the medicine, the worry -
the idea that I cradle some kind of feeling
in this belly, this crater where I have
hidden countless sighs and
terminated statements, glad to be,
at last, the secret-keeper.
The eyelids, so heavy lately,
the sun drags on them,
and I comply, let it make shapes
in the darkness when I let them close.
I lay in the grass and feel the earth
warmed, the grass cool, the whole thing
I abide, I abide.
I accept the actual, I live there
in a house I?ve built for myself
from days in murk and
misgivings, from the stable boughs
of my present future and from a little
of that fine moss I found one day
while appreciating things.