I am awake with myself
I yawn

and not in my own house
with someone beneath
I try to be quiet

but there are things I want
to do
but can't

to commune with all those
up at this time
around the world

I can pray for them
but my stool is distant
and my beads

buried in my bag
which involves another
downward trip

but my life progresses
day by day
the hours pass fairly

and I have no gripe
to say
except for the large,

weighty ones
about death, and loss,
and change,

which I cannot control
so why bother

complaining and moaning
at the way
things are

it will be my turn soon
so I  must
make arrangements

but not now
in the dark
and quiet

she loves me 
even though
she's not here

a car passes
so someone else is up
going somewhere
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