Tired

It doesn’t matter when you are tired:
The world just slips away.
It goes where everything goes when it fades.
It goes to the back of your mind.

There is an iron trellis and a plot of unmarked graves,
But that is not where the memories are hidden;
They are kept in a locked mausoleum, marble
Cylinder of circling light, and inside it is dark, it is quiet and dark.

I mean when you are tired the world becomes material –
You can only feel it as the light of conscience fades –
And heavy, and all a single weight pressing
At your eyes, and then you are too tired to say goodbye.