It's the lack of reason
that keeps us awake at night,
glued to the blankets with nervous sweat,
a gleaming in the dark.
And still, it all means nothing:
a universe full of stars we'll never touch.
An ocean away, a butterfly spreads its wings,
a bullet lodges in the flesh of a citizen of another world,
one so distant it wouldn't matter,
if it didn't somehow have the same name.
Always, the explanation eludes us.
It either doesn't exist, or
it only speaks in words we haven't heard.
We haven't listened.
When we wake up,
we're still the same people we ever were,
doomed to the mobius strip approach to mistakes,
our tails firmly clasped between our teeth.
And we will never sleep peacefully.
When we die,
you'll have to weigh down our eyelids to keep them shut.