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.