Is it possible to let the sleeping life seep into day—
that bright murk of softness, state of being reverently

at rest yet wide-eyed as Athena’s wired owl? Often
when my alarm goes off in the morning, something

alarming happens in my dreams. A pair of words
might land on my face—exist : exit. Warren : rabbits.

Language : anguish. I just read about a scientist
who said humans have so transformed the planet

we should no longer refer to it as Earth. We seem on
our way to a very different word. He suggests Eaarth.

But what about Achates, as in ancient trusty friend?
Or how about Planet Greige, from the French for raw,

unfinished, usually said of silk. But we’ll make the word mean
as we see fit: Heart’s wife. Furl of blue-green. A tired outburst of silence.