Climb the ladder to the day;
climb out of the dark cloth of night.
There is a nakedness in the light
that has nothing to do with clothes.
Press the silk of ruined dreams;
smell the wet and hot of protection
sleeping bag tight in the cocoon –
metamorphosis or death.
That which is different
appears as broken glass
treaded to crumbled sameness
Tomorrow springs to life
in words and dreams and falling leaves.