The Sleepless Philosopher's Dream

It's a gift you could send yourself,
A reminder of the sunrise
Through the kitchen window

In spring, after the coughing night
Your daughter spent crying in bed
Because her cold kept her awake

And therefore kept you awake, too.
It's a poem and none too fancy,
Just another lined reminder,

Like the furrows in your forehead,
That you are true experience
Of a myriad myriad

Things happening beyond control,
From your daughter's fit of coughing
To the pale green tint of sunrise.

Any brain carries the desire
To divine causation. Only
Minds must worship implication.