Aubade With Insomnia

— Mark Kyungsoo Bias

A body of water moves through me, pulsing
to the coast—sand in my frontal lobe. Awake
            because I surrendered
to a song with a chorus so deep and calming
I mistook it for sleep. And a voice brimming
            from the dunes invites me
into an opening airwave. A brisk wet foraging
through the daylight. When I break open
            the shell of dawn, there is
emptiness stretching from both sides of the
horizon until it is the horizon. I want to pull
            the thread. Expose the god-
less afternoon until it is nothing but a tear
in a blood summer, until there is nothing
            left to say. Nothing left save
for the earth’s unstoppable shift. Now the
plains are turning blue. And the stars are bright
            because there is nothing new
to write save for the oven with its jaw unlatched
and the thermostat blinking back.


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