Nightpoem: 1

A singular weightlessness
pervades the existence I call my own

endless chatters of doings float
through a bedroom window

softening them: a lullaby of rain-mist
still a hundred doings not done

sort themselves, settling: ballast
to hold the float-away pieces

weight against muscles limbs
inclinations that stretch outward

weight that binds neck to shoulder
head to neck  here to now

birdsong to day-star
these bindings  and then

a knife of night to separate me
from my trivial bones.

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