In a moment deserved and meant for living, she said
leave your sleep, leave your misty mellow dreams of
sadness of madness of minutes gone waiting while
what is now reminds that it won’t wait, won’t wait for you.
The new moon sits expectant watching for the risen, the
latest greatest born in night and darkness in dreams and
silence in 2 AM restless tangles of sheets and blanket, of
strangled waiting..of straining contentment toward an idea.
That slit of a minute, a shadowed peek into a millisecond
gone sour while the crust of tomorrow still lays across the
breadth of the night…now slowly receding waters from dark
storms, it is movement cloaked in secrecy in high neon lights.
She is the day, lost once a million million times and found as
many more, she lights brave candles against the night, against
the relentless the pressing the pushing shoving moving quiet
that her nemesis creates and seeds and grows and needs.
Leave your sleep is a command—a cry—a post-nocturnal rally
meant to prod and persuade eyes now shut to eyes wide open
to eyes clear and gainfully aware of minutes over minutes over
minutes lost in that sour second; that hesitant little jewel.
The night goes gladly not so forceful in his willingness to sleep
to dream himself into being when she tires and rests, closes her
portals, her unguarded doorways, her gates of heaven she thinks
he says it is easy to be when being is all we have within our reach.
The night turns the corner
as the day nudges you forward
a little bit this moment, a little
bit this time…leave your sleep
and join me she says, it is a
minute that won’t wait.