I Know but for the Morning
the night would never end, the birds
would go on nesting, beaks nuzzled
into feathered wingpits. The television
would not crack into being, electric
blue practicing the art of interruption.
The frozen mouse would never be found
buried deep inside the dog food,
too easy to climb into, impossible to escape.
The snow would never melt, and December
would remain suspended in thanksgiving.