The incorrectly-added final s
suggests that there is some accounting
for the bilious fatigue
of this particular pre-dawn—we have spent ourselves
in haggling with the heavenly bodies but this time
we got a bargain: 6 instead of 5.
The little hiss lets slip
belief that there exists some great reserve
of daylight we cannot call on now
but only make deposits in
by electing small privations: black mornings
at the bus stop silently accumulate there as golden
after-dinner strolls in dreams where we retire
early, undepleted, not alone
for the inevitable
tumble back to dark.