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.
Of chances I missed
My sweet frustration.
In the face of the flashing lights,
Yesterday falls to it knees, and cries
Pools of sorrow.
They will be my new reason to rise.