Curtains drawn from East to West

My body I put down to rest.

A season of work, in its quiet breaths,

Sheathing the hatchet and sweeping the mess

Of another day beneath the bed

Where dust and dreams have settled well.

But on the wall,

There’s a pattern of lights.

Like a map of constellations.

Never-ending list

Of chances I missed

Call themselves

My sweet frustration.

In the face of the flashing lights,

Yesterday falls to it knees, and cries.

In sorrow.

But tomorrow,

They will be my new reason to rise.