I don’t know why 
the night now haunts 
it used to be 
a haven a respite 
a time of comfort 
but now it ticks
slowly by dark deep 
hard just like obsidian 
under water it seems 
this silence all around 
and even my home 
has become a stranger 

I like again
again and again 
there’s something comforting 
about once again 
like a favorite 
chair or chowder
or charm there’s 
something familiar and 
fascinating about again 
like a face
or a smile 
or maybe book
maybe again and 
once again and 
maybe over agains
are the gateways 
to something better 

I learned
some time 
ago to
never try
to stop
a spinning 
fan with 
my finger 
for spinning 
fans wish
to blow 
and very
little else 
and this 
taught me 
then about 
far more 
than fans

There is this peace
that not many find
for it’s not temporary 
one doesn’t stumble upon 
or into or onto 
it’s not something else 
it is it just 
is it is so 
much is that is
is there and there
and just about everywhere 
except for the kind
of peace that almost 
everyone else tells themselves 
is peace when in fact 
that is just peacefulness 

I’m quiet
having found 
not what 
I’ve been 
looking for 
but many 
other things 
mostly things 
for people 
can’t be 
found for 
they are 
never lost
simply distracted 
looking for 
their own 
things which 
aren’t really 
lost either