waking

5:35 a.m. and mortality
rattles my dreams
to shake me from slumber
and dump me in the clamour
of consciousness considering
probabilities of you waking
to another day

Across the way we ponder
ifs and mays to outfit
ourselves against judgement
Would that you would see me,
and I you, we could spare
the world our gifts
wrought to hit the right spot,
weld the right cage,
forge our thoughts, and fix
this rift in perpective