Earth Giver

By Peter Halstead

Waking up at midnight
Sleep walking, nearly dead,
The shade’s uneven ridge
Spews enough of evening
To recollect the adage
Of going back to bed.

But afterwards at least
I slept soundly,
Until finally from the sill unfurls
A sliver of chartreuse,
As the sudden spring
Leafs through me
With the rhythm of the world.