"Who writes happy poems?" my friend asked me after I apologetically passed him one of my sad ones.  This came back to me today when a student showed me a page from her diary dated three years ago. it was a response to s challenge I gave her: "Write a happy poem."  At the top of the page the words "Happy Poem" are decoratively written.  The rest of the page is blank. 






Yeah.

Going to bed is difficult because I think I somehow hold up my world, if not THE world, by staying awake. (I don't generally think it's my job to hold up the world, only from midnight and on.)

Going to bed is difficult because there is always one more thing after my one more thing. (Somehow, I'm still that little boy wanting a drink of water and then a story and then the answer to a question, and then another. Though now it's one more comment on a post, one more email, one more must see Wikipedia entry.)

Going to bed is difficult because I fear I may never wake up, so I've got to put off sleep for as long as I can. (Though I never fear I won't wake up from a day time nap.)

Going to bed is difficult because my bed is empty when I go in, and still feels empty after that.

There’s nothing wrong with
perching on a jetty at sunset
and ushering in the weekend
while holding your lover’s hand
And 
There’s something warm in
a blizzard Monday cocooned at home
healing hard earned post break-up wounds
while a streak of sunlight holds you

Sometimes late at night like now
I hope for redemption to come
before I go to bed, and then
I stay up till late, waiting
until my body makes the call
to go and see what I'll find
on the other side of living,
and my mind and my soul
can't help but succumb
to the salvation of sleep.