Boxes of sleep


Flat boxes of fiveses and sixeses

minuteses of sleep

wrapped with gray burlap readies to tear

bound by loopy stringses

Silence at the western fenceline

Silence at the western fenceline

We stare at the lines, divided,
you and I stark and misguided,
worn dull by day’s exhausted breath
we move on by hope of certain rest;
by day and by step, with faith our bequest
and by trust, and what it will cost us.