Return to the book of hours

Four o’clock struggles to scratch away layers of sediment 

masking reason from myself. Revelation, sorrow, solace, again.

Clamoring birds abandon their roosts.

In the latest night, feel

the curse: the storm,

the whirlwind, the

hurricane, the

chasm becoming the relic.

The remnant,

the torn, the whole

each the one, each lost and sought.