Because I can't sleep again I walk

the neighborhood. The stars surround

 

my little house. Before birds or determined

cars heading straight to the gym I walk

 

concrete earthquaked by crape myrtle

roots. I try to look up. My therapist told me

 

on our first day that disordered thoughts

are lies. I aim to ask myself when I think

 

my life will never improve: is this

really true? Potential energy tells us

 

when you draw the bowstring, it will snap,

but grief is cumulative: what boils

 

on the surface heats from coals below,

the letter comes the day the power shuts

 

off, the week the medication changes

sleep retreats, the moon a vengeful ghost.