Are  persistent reminiscence;
When the sun glints between the buildings
Across the manicured square;
When the shadows grow long and crawl
Into my un-blinded window–
            Nearer days end
            Than beginning;
When the brook of visitors and callers
Has thinned to a listless trickle:

When my chin bends toward my chest,
When my breath achieves the
            Rhythmic pulse of a
            Cloud falling apart
            into an otherwise spotless sky.

From stolen lunch,
On just-cracked spines:
Speckled pillow.
I’ll move that pile,
            I promise
Those large boxes,
            I hope,
To make some room
For that sofa
Later.

When the words have overwhelmed me
With their congenital failures;
When the whispers from the past float by
Toward unrequited beckoning;
When the work ahead is stacked higher still
Than any effort might relieve;
            Two zeds til    
            Two fifteen
When the new day’s promise sits removed  
From morning’s matted memories:
 
My distraction sits upon the
Consternation of yesterday’s rest,
The fifteen minutes spent in slumber,
            When well-served effort
            Would have cleared  the space
            For sofa: chunky napping place.
                                               
Having reached that point,
I can’t but daydream,
Downed, counting moments
As they beat, beat, beat,
Lucidly, fleeing,
             I yawn,
Toward that bigger couch,
            (I’ll sleep)
Where the lounge, the chaise,
Has been always,       
Already,
Always.

Past the point,