When you wake,
body stiff as an old Valentine.
Pills and cat food and rain,
a look at the healing cut. The other cut.
You didn’t feel its slice at all.
Your nerve endings are abdicating.
Life is but a dream, eventually.
It’s grey. Leave that nightlight on 
all day. But. A million suns 
wait in old paper! You were wise
to let new kittens sow chaos here.
Something crashes to the floor upstairs,
something irretrievably breaks.
We will celebrate the destroying
young angels everywhere. How 
beautifully naive it all is. You run
to the shards. Like Ezra Pound,
the kittens believe “MAKE IT NEW.”
Running up and down old stairs
after new shards, you finally crash
into yourself and wake up.