When the day comes,

the sky drops like a jaw,

mumbles through pleasure into dawn.

The stars, billions of eyes, bulge.

They dilate.

Morning is a sweet gasp.

The rest is a shuttered breath.

When is my God.

I pray to the hours.

I link seconds for my neck.

I wrap minutes around my fists.

I kneel before the clock.

I kiss the calendar.

I don’t dream.

I do.

I don’t rest.

I time the night.

August 2, 2018

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