time to sleep

the bones of the beast
are dry in the light,
the scrapings
of corn pudding, the hard
scraps
of crust
from bread
we had no room to eat.
the stain
of cranberry
on the white linen cloth.
the packages
torn asunder
of all things shopped
for
and hastily bought.
the sleep
of the night is welcome
now,
it's over it's over
only three hundred and fifty
three days
before we
do more.