Something

Staying awake far too late
As stimulants parade me inside out,
I feel the empty stomach breeding
More discomfort,
I don't want to sleep,
It is an absence;
One more empty pillow beside me, cold.

A missing, too,
The arts are what I'm missing,
All of them so delicate,
So stuck to me,
And I to them,
We waltzed around the mind,
Just once or twice before.

Wood falls, snow falls,
Things like arrows, feelings,
Semblance pouring into me.
Overwhelmingly potent;
This is real, for you,
For me, time is a trick maker,
Sometimes at our expense.

I can carve something of wood,
That which falls is still of use.
I can cool your face,
Blow back the wind to summer,
Spend my arrows sleeping
Rather than reading everything I see,
But I don't sleep lest next to you.