What is the most important experience to have
that we never have? Sleep.
Did that make you laugh? Apply it to life.
There. Now you can weep.
If I were impolite, you’d always see me crying.
Sleep and love don’t work when any of us are trying.
But sorrow? Consider yesterday. Or a certain tomorrow.
This morning was perfect poetry weather.
The tragic history of everything the preface,
as well as recent rain.
The sun had just risen, the buds were delicate,
the air chilly; April crowded the lane.
The cold lilac, the yellow forsythia were tall.
You told me, “now is a dream!”
Warmth and time were getting ready
to spoil it all.