It’s 11:27 in my mind
as I grasp for the words
that will let me go to sleep.
I construct houses from the
splinters of my life
piled high on my desk.
Bits come loose over time.
They’re added to the stack –
sharp relics piled out of sight.
The stack grows large with splintered thoughts
till my desk is covered
with the fragments of life.
Fragments saved for a future construction,
founded in old fissures of time
and crafted into something new.
“Behold I will make a new thing
from old memories redeemed,”
or so I said at 5:15.
Sometimes the poignant words, old memories,
or flashes of beauty from a dying sun
remain only splinters on a desk.
Leaving me alone with the words
of 11:27. Scribbled in the dark
with only the semblance of versification.
built into a shack
that let’s in the evening breeze..
I look out from my uneasy rest
at the splinters still on the desk,
caught in the moonlight,
waiting to be made new
if only I had the time.