Waking in the middle of the night,
say, midway between lying and rising,
just then, is not always curse and cue
for raking old worries to no effect.
just sometimes we awake with a blessing,
precious memories shine our consciousness:
not one, but two lights beam in darkness,
a colon before rest.
where do they come from? they travel far
but arrive fresh. they head straight for me
because only I will know the pair they are.
they come for me, a blessing, a colon before rest.
both were recalls of what was barely
registered at the time of their birth.
one a scholar defining remembrance of Him:
the other, of trouble taken to meet
a paedophile prisoner released
from his sentence. the one the very point
of the other, remembering a man lost
in the darkness of our collective sleep.
After the colon comes the sense, the blessing.
There are some things only we will know,
only alight when they come to see us,
treasure to take us to rest of night.
Grits and Grains 