Because my boy’s awake,
and the gap in his curtain
casts what cannot be a coincidence
of light
on balcony slats,
criss-crossing
the mathematics of the moon,
the outdoor couch’s cushion
yields a touch for a tired spine.
Because I can hear my daughter softly
flicking a pencil,
I am able to draw
a soft breath enough
to shade the day
into falling away…
Because I know my third
is writing a novel
as she waits for the moon
to reframe
itself in a cathedral’s curtainless window,
I can tidally lock myself safely to sleep,
and wane away.
