The faint scent of death pervades
There are ways to wave away that trace.
Present time strikes one
Full in the face
With bouquets of touch and sound,
Surroundings bright with colors, light,
And even in a quiet night
The Moon can sooth to peaceful sleep.
But sleep itself can raise the care
That something threatens deep out there,
Barely discernible, it stirs,
A rip in time,
Discontinuity, and then,
And then, who knows what?
What squat frog of fate awaits?
What totality now lurks?
And so, awake, to watch
The ceiling lights of passing cars.
The marching troops of what had beens,
The avatars of what could be.
Until the weariness of empty sleep
Envelopes all concern
To swiftly endow
The yellow sun of morning now.