The moon was up all night last night. Tomorrow will be full.
On the seventy-fifth day of the fifty-fifth year,
The world came to rest against the wall of a broken skull.
I made my bed before dawn. My daughter appeared
And unmade the bed by romping in it. The frostless autumn moon
Had set. Failure is coextensive with success. Too much
Wisdom is a dangerous thing. Regret is a ghost that haunts all rooms,
Although rooms and ghosts feel none themselves as such.
A body already broken too many ways wrong needs to get gone.
I fixed breakfast for my daughter and something for her to draw on.
Contented, she drew a silver unicorn with a golden horn.
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