The news is all red
in spite of the daffodils
butting in with green.

All of the new buds
by the lake, showing red first
before they go green.

Old mulch by the walk
is not as red, and it’s cracked —
coming soon, the green.

The news is in red.
The window differs: make room! 
Consider the green.

Do you look for red
when you wake up, or do you
only see the green?

Spread red over green,
or hide the red with the green.
The news is on. Choose. 

This cold night —
the cars slide downhill,
struggle up.
I’m awake
though I should not be — the bed’s
not yet made.

Warm sheets wait
for my attention.
Pillows, nude
on the floor
without their shrouds, their robes,
call to me:

Come dress us!
Set your dumb poem down
and come now!
We’ll be so
welcoming, we’ll hold you close.
Let us work

to ease you
from your sullen art
into sleep.
You need us.
We are the antidote! Lie
down. Forget.