The drawers have all been closed,
the knives are drowsing. The doors
have all been checked. The locks are still.
The faucets have all been tightened, clockwise,
their tears stifled. The quiet does not hold the future
and its terrors clenched, but instead is the absence of time.
The dark is blank. The world that surrounds us,
thick and imperceptible as dreams, beckons sleep
as we welcome tomorrow, inevitably and without struggle.
We can do nothing to prevent it.
Poem A Day 