I want something stronger than tea but wiser than alcohol.
Restless legs, an under exercised heart, the circular gardens
I always meander through never mind what weather- one day
big-eyed with enthusiasm, and the next a dreary indifference.
I never go to bed completely satisfied.
Are my dreams making an effort to be heard by the night?
Does the night flow in me?
These musings don't have a virtual end, there is no portal
for them to store their alertness.
And I stare above, thinking my canopy is only a veil
to the contemplation of many more constellations than
I've encountered.
