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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