Mismatched clothes on end of 
bed arrayed like a waiting lady’s maid 
both hands first.

Sequestered in air conditioned
time I lie 
building piles of unwanted treasures.

My prerogative is 
reaching the top before
the bottom is stolen out from 
under me.

Every day is renewal -
alarm clock rings like 
a turtledove’s call
unchanging everything. 

Till this day my feet have
 never touched the ground. 
I stand on the shoulders of 
those before me

piled high with prayers.