Monday

To See the New World



And so it is with light feet that we tread these heavy boards in this, the midnight hour of our sleep.

The unbearability, or is it the inscrutability of our whispered glances that makes us tiptoe, pretending we know one is asleep and the other awake?

And when six feet under me is the low din of the refrigerator door soon to be opened, is it any surprise to you I keep my intentions to myself?

I'll smack my lips, as you soundly slumber not, to the tune of a toasted sandwich and my own melancholy ignorance,

or, rather, more correctly, my attuned miserly misery which forces me to open my eyes "to see the new world."