Sometimes I wake
Far too late.

Sometimes I rise far too early.

Sometimes I am troubled,
By the rousing bedfellows;

Sometimes I am preoccupied
By the late night sun.

Sometimes I am running
Far too much,
Changing far too little.

Sometimes my womb is ranging
For daft to deft, and sometimes
It is silent to the point of death.

Sometimes I am taking
Far too many.

Sometimes I am giving
More than I should.

Sometimes I wish I could
Take more than I would;
Sometimes the year is stiffer
Than the hour,
And the second is far more square.

Sometimes I take for granted;
Other times,
I long to allow myself to be more unfair.

But who’s to care! If I should dance between
And there,
And everywhere,
For that is life.

Never easy.
Never as simple
Or forthcoming

As a kneeling, reaching prayer.

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