The AM is my hour:
I am alive.
I sit for hours, thinking
about yesterday, about tomorrow,
about me, about you, about us,
about life, this world, and about the skies.
I listen to the wind, looking at my window,
I listen to my thoughts, looking outside my window,
loving the darkness, the quiet, loving the sky,
as twinkly, eternity away, yet, feeling
and yet, looking as beautiful.
I slide back to my darkness,
I lay down in bed, feeling;
feeling nothing, feeling something, feeling some things
inexplicable, indisposable, inescapable.
I feel my face, and my heart speaks
in vocabularies of expressions;
I feel the wetness and the depth, the depth, the depth!
I sink—down and down below, below, below!
Streams flow, streams burn, streams break me down and down within.
My mind races, my mind spirals, my mind kills me!
I twist, I turn; I twist and break—oh, I break!
What is this?
Inexplicable, indisposable, inescapable!
It is just 3 am, and then, 4 am, and then it’s 5.
The world is dead in slumber,
as I lay awake, lifeless, thinking and feeling.
It is just the am;
of longer hours.
The moment of truths, of secrets unveiled,
the moment of oneness and aloneness.
The hour when death and life mingle—
we choose one, the other chooses us;
sometimes, it is the other way round.
The am is depth:
it is my hour, of death and of life.