Heather Sager ______________________ poem

Bring the night I, the poet, did walk around that day living like I was actually alive. And the next day, I the poet lived rather like I was dying. The morning birds robotically echoed each other amid spring trees, and I gaped at my hands, swearing butterflies had flown from them. In the lazy afternoon, insects buzzing over the meadow, I saw the shadows of sunset beaming from my hands. I didn’t want to bring the night, and so in dismay I covered my face.