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