Listening To Daughters

This morning is cloudy
The sheets are undone
This heart pours out sugar
Through buttons undone.

Dark is the night,
The wind glides on ice.
My bed has become a foreign place
Where I sit suspended
In pretended kept space,
Tracing lights in colored streams
That gleam out from these floating dreams.

And what it seems is what I've seen
And what I've seen is how it ends.
Cities burn for habits unlearned
That churn until perturbed again.
The nerve again for coastal norm
That came in left in sudden storms
That gave me weather far from home
I'd rather not must spend alone.