Night hymn

Night is best for thinking about beginnings—

not morning, like they’ll try and tell you.

I’m braver with my notions of what could be

with sleep so close to rescue me

when old Fear gets his claws around too tight.


I’ll need a runway afforded only in dreams

long enough to let the guts of the thing shake out

so I can see what it’s all for.


By the time the sun hits, I’m ready.

The amnesia of sleep is a convenient armor

that greets me fresh each day.

The hard part is done, I say.

Morning is just the other side of the door.