Sometimes the night is short and the rest is deep--not this night. The need for more than rest has prevented any peace. The hands can't sweep it away and morning still is coming. Entering into the world oddly but sure of its place. It has already been named.

Marks in the evening sky the day before dissipated with the sun with no interpretation left behind. The encrypted message a sign of what was before and what is to come. We watch the sky for streaks like tea leaves.

We look for a covering favoring the quilt stitched with fallen tears. For the demands we make or prayers we pray to have found somewhere to rest. We look for answers to come to us in the night when the body refuses to rest, when lovers won't submit to one another and the fireplace becomes a friend. Expecting the dawn to cause us to forget how the moon seemed so far away that it caused us to weep.