Light cannot find me under here Except the blinding reflections off of the cars And the little pieces that come through the burlap I close my eyes and there's even less It is enough; is it too much? When the floor is hard and the ceiling is blue, focus evades my fingers They can still tap across the letters reluctantly And I can still stretch out seated But this shadow won't go anywhere Until the sun goes another twenty degrees Toward the end of the day