When I finish watering the plants
I want to water them again
When I finish one of the three books I'm finishing
I want to stare at the ceiling
A sound I cannot figure out
Right next to my window wakes me up some mornings
I lay there for a minute, watch the pink light hit the trees
And I go back to sleep
We played cards on the floor
You told me about Japan
I talked about the churches I grew up in
In some weird way, we were the same
Light takes on all kinds of forms
Do we know enough, or could we know some more?
