Perhaps it’s more than I should ask
of each day – to distill a drop,
if not of essence,
then at least of a reduction
of the brew from which I might expect
some prescience:
something with a touch less cloud –
a clarifying view: as when
a yawn induces tearing
in the eyes: a dawn, a gentle shock,
a slight surprise.
Perhaps it’s too much to surmise
that training my attention
on the spanned eternity
between the sunset and sunrise
might prod a benefit beyond
its entertainment: perhaps it’s too much
to imagine I might see the heart
beneath what’s guising it.
I’m dreaming lately I will fall in love.
I’d like to dream that I will rise to it.
of each day – to distill a drop,
if not of essence,
then at least of a reduction
of the brew from which I might expect
some prescience:
something with a touch less cloud –
a clarifying view: as when
a yawn induces tearing
in the eyes: a dawn, a gentle shock,
a slight surprise.
Perhaps it’s too much to surmise
that training my attention
on the spanned eternity
between the sunset and sunrise
might prod a benefit beyond
its entertainment: perhaps it’s too much
to imagine I might see the heart
beneath what’s guising it.
I’m dreaming lately I will fall in love.
I’d like to dream that I will rise to it.
.
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