And then I awoke, startled by
the slow walk of wind thru the trees.
The quilt crocheted by my mother
protects the bed, another layer
defying the cold on this quiet night.
I have never been afraid to dream,
but the numbers of the restless clock
remind me that time is never
finished, and this, an unremarkable truth.
I turn my head and look thru the window—
what I perceive to be enough
is merely a song I have forgotten the words to.
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