i'm tired, heavy tired. i blame the sunrise, bland as it was, and i suppose the entire night that preceded it. the white glowing screen and the gradually lightening sky, the sticky roof and the stickycool breeze that blew across it. the thick misty skyline, city hall phantoming itself away as wave after anticlimactic wave of beige and grey filtered weakly through to herald the dawn. i blame the poems tumbling abortively out of my mind all morning, my total lack of food eaten today (with the exemption of my ham sandwich), and also my total dehydration. i blame the long and stumbling conversation that wound itself through the night, its long silences, its deep necessity, its acknowledgement. i blame - or perhaps the correct verb here, and all along, is credit - i credit the releasing of a sorrow carried so long i thought i'd made it part of myself, and perhaps the right word is thank, after all. i thank the long, warm night and the humble dawn, the renewed comfort of friendship that had been strained to the point of breaking, to the point of sharp edges and downcast eyes. i thank the clear-eyed gaze of honesty. i thank you, because this tired has, for once, a quiet soul beneath.