16 Jun 2016 – Midnight

You wake, hear nothing,
all about you – darkness, dawn –
a sleeping kitten.

Sorrow suspends you
from another surging crest
whose source stays hidden.

Cosmic collisions?
Black holes seven billion years
show dented fenders?

What does the day know
of our mother’s anguished hearts
we carry with us?

Caught in the middle,
stretched from age to age we buzz,
plucked by dead fingers.

What we now carry,
they once bore upon their backs,
age unassuaging.

What we inherit,
we must somehow lay to rest,
this is our calling.