Pomegranate Seeds

The pavement is dark and wet this morning.
As if night fell to the ground, weeping,

instead of shifting to the other side of the sky.
I wonder if that place is dark tonight? Or if

the world, suddenly light, has frightened what
is left of the tribes? Our sun is buried behind

grey blankets. You shift and murmur about early
and back to bed. I stay in the doorway thinking

of a way to explain night’s disappearance, a story
of waiting for morning to throw off sleep and arrive.

 


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