Now the Trees are Raining

What strange shapes we take

each morning

rolling or hopping or dragging out the bed. 

What determines our day?

Besides the little drop of poison placed

behind our lids during sleep

and the strange ventures we travel

when the window’s left open

the cool breeze swifts in. 

 

To master —

happiness before drugs

uprising before wakefulness. 

And now the trees are raining.