Insomnia

Lacking control, I bounce into rage. Finding escape
partly hidden among the lost, seeking refuge one finds
patterns and familiar routines handed down by generation.

The seed is sown deeply and change only comes at the breaking
of the bough, casting off the part that grows so oddly
away from the sun: the lightness gained so luminescent;

so reminiscent of youth. It is always backward
at these odd early mornings that one returns
recalling a time when every step felt just

as it was proposed; everything possible but only one
choice -- versus now and that path is so far away
and so much work to return and so easy to just

sleep.