what kind of rest
do you expect to get
at all
what sort of recompense
for passing which state
of remoteness
when there is no bat
no rodent
no owl stirring
no moonlight silver
water lapping
against a cistern wall
with no lush
canopy overhead
no dense carapace
how is a body supposed
to zip itself up
for a bit
to stall infinity
between two blinks
of armistice
to see only the pureness
of the ink and not
the words written in it
to pull its head off
and push it
off into the black
stream of that
same ink
on the pillow of oblivion
and then turn around
without guilt
and forget
