Parable of Day
It was a day
wedged between two nights.
Night before and night after.
It was preparing something special
between the sleeves of darkness,
nights on all sides like a forest.
This day was practicing
to be rope or machine,
tulip or cliff.
It held something memorized
in its pockets, something ancient,
like an atom or a tooth.
The day stood in the middle of itself.
It measured its length, its width.
It imagined the moment of escape.
Enshrouded in motives,
nights leaned against the beams,
looking in from above, from below.
This day had been named long ago,
hurled out into the future
to wait for us.