Today I woke to yesterdays
stacked like unopened letters,
heard poetry pleading—
did not speak it,
saw sculptures straining—
did not free them,
felt the breath of being—
let her slip by,
as if witnessing were enough for living,
as if wonder could survive unanswering—
so I folded the day back onto itself,
careful not to crease it—
told myself tomorrow will be
for braver verbs,
and a mouth
that opens.