Passage  

I thread days onto the year’s necklace.

The dark ones and the light ones, as they travel

through me, all start to gleam—jewels

that chafe my soul until, exhausted, it

wants a rest from time. As the eagerness subsides,

unable to sleep, I fish in the low tide of my dejection

among the channels of the small screen, where swim

carnivorous hours, full of other lives.

I turn off the light and, like an island chosen

by the moon for this very night, position myself

at high tide, which shortly will carry me off anywhere,

with anyone, even if it should be with

the nightmare, down the path of dreams.