Age

Like sunshine, a dancing mark:
A stained heart-manufacture
Which requires structure -
But needs the wings of a lark.

Hamlet In The Morning

Walking to work tired, feet sticky
With the aftermath of dreams.
They made sense earlier this morning
And still cling to my shoes.

Is this the way, always?
To wake.  To sip coffee and memory,
And then walk between
The linger and abrupt necessity?