I woke at 3:15 and didn’t fall
asleep again till it was nearly day.
My shoulder hurt a bit. I don’t recall
an injury; it didn’t go away
no matter my position. Then my head
began the monkey-dance of wakeful night:
regretting friends and relatives now dead,
reviewing tasks I’ll tackle when it’s light.

Emerging from my rumpled sheets at 6,
I took 3 aspirin and my measure, too,
concluded that I need a break to fix
my scapula, my rest, my point of view.
I’m skipping exercise. I’m stepping back,
inviting what’s outside to blaze my track.

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