Night Birds and Early Owls

If places told tales,

(and they do),

this house would be a vessel

of confusion

because when the night owl stirs,

it keeps

the early bird

from sleeping,

leaving them seething

in anxiety and remorse.

What’s worse is when

the early bird considers fleeing,

the night owl makes plans

to follow because each

are half to a whole

mess. I am both.

I will not try to recollect

the beginning. Significance rests

in the combination of beings,

and where I belong,

if I belong. How long

have I pondered

this curse?

What am I if both a night owl

and early bird,

no longer comfortable

in anything but restlessness?

If places told stories,

I would scour the nearby forest

in search for a tree

where I could build a nest

that speaks

for both halves —

moonlight illumination

and sunshine motivation,

midnight rumination

and the dawn’s inspiration.

When the night owl

stirs inside the vessel

of my soul, the early bird

will always answer —

an inexorable calling.