Working Class Thoughts

Quiet murmurs bend in darkness. Thoughts fray. I miss the sound Of moons that moan. I've seen waves Shave the shores But I flew by the pavement Too fast to apot each wave Chase each grain of sand. An ocean visited at night Like an old friend On her last night Is not the same ocean Seen in the day. Who are these polars of time That limit our brains And clutter our closets? Won't they rest So we can divide the space In our rich memories And organize time's faces? I dream of my last minute And how it will taste. I will feel the fabric That entwines and entangles us. The moon fades, Hiding in the light. Yet I will pass between The moaning and the chasing, In the darkness of the day, In the last labor Neither pushed Nor pulled.