Is full

I do not know where this glow is from.

I do not know where the creaks come from.

I do not know where the stars go, or what happens to trees when the burn past ash and go up, up in smoke and smells.

I do not know if it is morning or night because both are dark. 

I do not know if my feet touch the ground.

I do not know how to sleep through snores or plumbing rattles.

I do not know how many spiders live in the cracks of my ceiling.

I do not know if the quiet is full or empty.

I do not know if we are burning up like a sparkler or down like a wick. 

I do not know how to cool my feet and calm my vessels. I do not know how many freckles I have, or whether the cafe will be open or closed. I do not know what was send under the pirate ship at the lake but I heard that it was bad and I said it was okay. I do not know the green and the blue like he does, or the characters he is yet to fill paper with. I do not know it's burns or it's violence, it's twitches in the night and it's horrorshow scrawled in ink on bathroom walls. I do not know the hair he loses in the shower, or the breathes given in the dark. I do not know the slip of lip from teeth in startled grins from that lady, and why, or why she is not speaking. I do not know why this blanket is heavy. Or why my arms are tired. Perhaps I flew too far. Perhaps too many cigarettes. Burning up like a sparkler, and down like a wick.