In the tiny sliver of light
Between my blinds and the window sill,
I can hardly tell if it’s morning or night.
I only know it’s not yet time to get up.
So I wait
In the place I must be
At the end of each day
Before I am allowed to face another one.
Idling between yesterday and tomorrow,
Between everything that has ever happened to me
And what I’ll have for breakfast,
Between pieces of fabric
Folded into a vessel
Where one is expected to
Soundlessly experience the drawl of time.
But soundlessness, if it exists at all,
Is only for those who are not here,
Who have gone off somewhere else to pass the time.
Not I, who lay here,
Witness to all the things
Refreshing their stations on their own schedules.
I lay awake with them, noticing them.