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All the hours

My eyes fly open at all the hours
Light or dark, ache or worry, clanging or deep still calm

Three a.m. I am torn all which-way
Not meant to be here. Not sure how to quiet my heart

Should I read, write, make required amends?
Should I tackle to-dos or gentle my body down?

I feel my face abstract and sideways
A mind wriggles free of the fences built to tame it

At the graying hour, finally, rest
Where heavy and light meet weightless and timeless, I sleep
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