Gabrielle Gassin

This night’s rest

Has not been clean

This body unquiet

Within the covers

And so without

Freshness, the mind is laden

Its slate unwashed

It seems,

With the accumulation

Of yesterday’s words

Presented once more

Upon waking

A bowl though washed

Remnants remain

And it feels that way;

Still soiled

Needing another round

With eyes closed

And limbs peaceful

Before it can face

A new day