how to start the day without meaning

For some time, your mornings begin at two every
Afternoon, at the crack of a second when everyone
Else has yawned, slowly edging back to cycles.

It is never complicated, you say, not like ecru
For bathroom tiles, emerald for eyes green
And hazelled. Still, each waking is different,

You say, wherein one night sympathy and alibi
Are two separate things, and in another will
And blindness are all but the same. I could not

Oppose to this, to what makes things swell, swish
Leap, and be meaningful. There is convenience
In knowing by increments, the way a leitmotiv

Bloom to its proud, final sparkle. It will take time.
Though our beds speak of stillness now, the sky bluer
At this hour by your window you say, there is only

Too much this world can bear for solitude. Because
As shadows tire of waiting and as clocks hum on,
Together, with brightest of meanings, that day will end.