To Gather Paradise

One of those nights when you’re glad
To be alone in your humble
Bed to lie still and to hope.

Life in probability,
Fairest house of all, also
Most numerous of exits,

Also difficult and small,
But crammed as a cricket’s brain
With tightly coiled sentences

Directing host to water
So they can unwind their own
Tinier, hungrier kind.

No, that’s not fair. There’s no kind
Of life any hungrier
Than any other, and none

Never needs to pause, to rest.
Life pulses. The probable
Regulates the rest. So rest.