Night, Sleep, and the Stars

[butterflydreaming]

The painful confrontation with morning,
The assault of chiming alarm and crying cat,
Arrives with the regularity of a freight train;
On this timetable, I am never ready to wake.

Afternoon sleep is easier than night's
A few hours privately enjoyed
Closing my eyes to sun and finding sun again,
or sometimes twilight, when I am ready to wake.

The most delicious hours are those
Between dawn and eight, or ten
After premature birth into to the day
Going back to bed again, until I am ready to wake.

Living becomes a butterfly's flight between rests,
Within the fractures of dreams, my life,
But oh this craving for more of both sleep and life,
To leave the things it loves most, my soul, unready.