Waking at 3 am

Even in the cave of the night when you

wake and are free and lonely,

neglected by others, discarded, loved only

by what doesn't matter—even in that

big room no one can see,

you push with your eyes till forever

comes in its twisted figure eight

and lies down in your head.

You think water in the river;

you think slower than the tide in

the grain of the wood; you become

a secret storehouse that saves the country,

so open and foolish and empty.

You look over all that the darkness

ripples across. More than has ever

been found comforts you. You open your

eyes in a vault that unlocks as fast

and as far as your thought can run.

A great snug wall goes around everything,

has always been there, will always

remain. It is a good world to be

lost in. It comforts you. It is

all right. And you sleep.