Keepsies

At 6:30 a.m.
the darkness impedes the light still
yet morning has fired through
my sleep, a bully shooter
scattering my dreams like marbles
they roll beyond the boundary
of my consciousness
where a rough knuckled fist
scoops
and pockets them

I’m clouded
I can’t remember
my crimson swirl aggie or
from whom I snared my last mib or
the circle where I sported and nudged
and lagged and plunked

Now in the dark morning
my senses perceive only a hint of
those alabaster glasses
which once inhabited me and
befriended me and
were as known to me
as the night