Late



Mishka is curled on the desk beside me, fast asleep. I should be so soundly asleep as well.
My eyes are closing between words.

I learned tonight that a friend---a singer, composer---is now in the midst of dying. I will ask that all his good deeds turn into angels to accompany him over that border---ecstatically, if possible.

Dear ones, I cannot write any more tonight. My heart is pulling me to the prayer room.
Good night.