Meeting tomorrow\'s boundary,
where midnight dreams to morning,
the airplanes softly humming
through all the puffy clouds of wool;
lull, and lay- all the dream-drunk sleepers
and the silent weepers (babies crying for their mothers)
all the prayers at bedtime altars
worshipping to where, for?
No one has the answer
gliding sky and dark like wine
pouring through the glimpsing moon,
peaking past the clouds so huge,
sleeping lazy languid soothe ~
All the things at night we do.