broken sleep

a night so thin i can still discern
my yesterday's old noon, just past it.
vaguely. my breath
obscures the glass, i stand so near
and press my vision through, toward
a sky that's too deliberate to trust. steel clouds
with rusting edges flecking off; staining
un-tended fields below, mirroring the places
across heaven, blessedly left weedy and wild.

slumber's exile. why? i ask for sleep.
my prayers are tin foil. i taste
their bright bite while words
chew out in a purpled ache.
is my grief insincere?
i sent some wishes toward
the ocean's floor
far from here,
years ago ~ broke off the star
fish's arm; just to watch it regrow.
that ocean alone understands why
that creature and i
do as we do, as we
did then. a sacrament,
that failed to fulfill.

pacing now, the rim of this wide hunger,
outside dream and time lines.
my empty needs are absolute and armless -
they reach me always; harbor no desire
outside themselves. no stir or promise
for growth; meeting me everywhere;
there, already. still and even through
exhausted nights of disrepair,
i am envious of their completeness.