And she wasn’t sure what she was on to.
Everyday was feeling bigger.
She fell asleep ever night on the edge of something.
Of her sanity?
Of her life?
No, really, sometimes she’d qualify that she felt like she’d die in a couple hours.
She’d be swelling, trying to sleep,
Swelling with life.
Is that how it feels before you die?
Or, even wilder,
Is something beginning?
Every night felt like arriving at a door, an important door.
I find it so hard to sleep, sometimes.
I feel kept up by ideas.
Sometimes new ones, sometimes old ones.
I get kept up with loves.
Usually new ones, absolutely old ones.
Can I, will I, should I, may I
Might we, have we, didn’t we
I can’t even sleep right now.
Because sounds are bouncing in the dark
And they spell out
T O M O R R O W I S I T
And it takes me quite some time
To turn the echoes of possibility
Into a lullaby
So I can finally sleep
And see what all this fuss about tomorrow
Really is anyway.