Let’s look together, in the tight, dark corners.
Look in the tough, raw twilight– Once, I thought I found a bed, under a dome of stars.
I tried to sleep.
The world is always fresh. Everyone is always looking
for somewhere to sleep.
Sleep is a sort of end, and the stars are
a high, steady beginning. If you find our new bed, or even a pile of straw hay, tell me. We’ll find a bed, make it, and lie in it.
A nest is a new beginning, and dust is the worn down end.
Let’s look high, in the open, bright wings. No– We don’t have to find dust. It’s right here. Don’t cough. We’ll nest in the sky.
Sunrise is a beginning, and sunset is an end.
Eventually, both lose meaning. We’ll forget to look, once we find our bed– Once we find it, we can rest. Short Poems about Belonging Gentle thoughts about Home Considerate thoughts on Homecoming
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My name is Jon. I'm a poet from Maine. I like to write stuff.
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