When night ceases being comfort
from day of endless rushing,
or words become less than honeysuckle
that invites all hummingbirds to sup,
when sunrise no longer stirs your thoughts
to rush up mountains, dive into rivers,
then you will be free of me.
If you are frightened by
the raspy whisper of my voice,
or find me in the place that
you cannot bring yourself to leave,
hold your ears closed, scream silently
to your God in His heaven that you still
find your most holy dreams,
weary thoughts
tangled in my hair.