Let Me Sleep
These are the tiny hours
looping through hollow, tunnel,
through a bottomless pit, when mice
scurry back to nests in the attic.
My eyes are trussed and yours,
wolf-glint and close, pearls of
light in shadows. A taste of blood,
of rust—my tongue is limp.
I try to swallow. A Boeing’s drawl
fades to a tick. The clock in the kitchen—
a tireless soul. Les me seep…
Something is floundering back
to a source, a ship listing
miles offshore, a lady waving
her scarf ‘hello’, ‘goodbye’ or
something terribly more.