Reward for a hard day's work: the restful sleep of the just.
The powering down, the closing up shop,
the sinking into oblivious peace,
not to be interrupted, not by
pleasures small nor annoyances great.
The long day's work is done. Let us rest.
Yet some things draw the day into the dark,
and push back sleep to "whenever you can."
Some things you just naturally get up for:
Sobbing in the still of night.
A dead cat. A straying man.
The abstract terrors of a child's body.
The concrete terrors of a child's mind.
A dreaded anniversary. A dreaded return.
The thought of being about to lose
everything at the break of dawn.
Remote injustice. Imminent war.
The night stretches out endless, endless, no end in sight
for the worry, for the pain. When will dawn come?
And when it, with all inevitability,
arrives: Is it an ending? or just a change of light?