I wake at the end of morning,
Another night’s sleep behind,
And rise with a dumbbell on my head,
No words ringing in my ears.
I wake in the lateness of afternoon,
Tired again and sick for company,
And rise with obsession in by brain
But without the words to chase it.
I wake in the middle of dim, blue night
And wake for good and ill, it seems,
I rise bedraggled, bedsick, wordless and
Wordlessly, I haunt the haunted halls.
But one morning—One morning,
I will wake early and rise and
Between my ears, the hum,
The hum will be words.
[The image above comes from the Gardin du Tuileries in Paris, France, 2016]