The plow's been past
I heard it in the dark before first light
then I went back to sleep
being free of obligations and appointments,
being old enough, up late enough, alone enough
to slip back into a dream
and hope it's not the one
of deadline missed, or public shame, or breathless flight.
So I got up and fixed the fire
then back to the warmth of my own existence
opening the gate
for the dream of caring.
Sleeping late shortens the day
I know but I don't mind.
Sometimes when night falls
it contains you.
