Sometimes I open the blinds
to witness the dark at four o’clock
in all its stillness.
But more often than not I keep
them closed, till the Sun insists
its alive and well, screaming
into the darkness that becomes
a whisper of joyful light by the time
it reaches my ears…
and yet every morning,
long before the birds
see the march of time and early worms
I question whether
I should continue,
every morning I ask if you
would be better off
seeing permanent light
through the blinds
I keep mostly closed.
Ian D. Hall 2021