Day’s Birth

The day did what days do—
Not this day, but that one.
They start and they go on,

And at some point they turn
In a way you could not
Have seen based on the past,

But they can still be dull,
And of course they can be
Done, the dull days, the turns,

The hours that seemed to be
Terse as stones in the weeds,
Like this day’s and that one’s.

You want them to add up,
Not what they add up to.