Four in the morning

The hour from night to day
The hour from side to side
The hour for those past thirty

The hour swept clean to the crowing of cocks
The hour when erath betrays us.
The hour when wind blows from extingusihed stars.
The hour of and-what-if-nothing remains-after us.

The hollow hour
Blank, empty
The very pit of all other hours

No one feels good at four in the morning
If ants feel good at four in the morning-three cheers for the ants.
And let five o'clock come if we're to go on living.