Those nights
when we're contented
enough with our
discontent to notice,
we may glimpse
the eternities
which are
sandwiched
between moments—
like gleaming marrow
locked
in femur bones;
like a drawer
full of long-expired
checks we cannot cash.
In fact, this may
explain why we're
so often restless—
restless to the point,
perhaps, of desperate
and tense—
any time we
find ourselves awake
instead of dreaming
of the endless
lives of
satisfaction
every
second
burns to ash.
