Hours Like Houses
Hours Like Houses
The hours like houses
On a hillside
We are always climbing,
Trying to catch
The fireflies of our breath.
Some have their lights on,
Others are dark.
Why am I drawn
Towards the darker houses,
Where I know my knocking
Will make those
Who my fist will wake
Go stiller, quieter
Than they were even in sleep?
Maybe because
The hours that refuse to
Let us in
Cannot
Be the last hours.