eyes close, a portal opens
to rain, silent homes / shields for
the wet and yearning. . . escape, enter, in
speckled ceiling light, visions of rice
and effervescent soaking / murk
in nonchalance, the 21st century–
has it ever been different?
(originally published in Poetry Super Highway, Fall 2024)
sleep
A Deep Exhaustion
I have a deep exhaustion
when an animal puts his head
on my lap I fall
ask anyone and they will say the weekend
is gone too fast
you sleep through your dreams
the train whistles
the beating heart
of your partner next to you
asleep through the lost time you share
(originally published in Pirene’s Fountain, Summer 2024)
Chasing Shadows
no end to entertainment tricks
of light when I lack sleep the world
is out to get me starlight in the rain
horn-nosed scythes in the shadows
lately I’ve felt the presence of twins
in our bathtub I swore they were
behind the curtains I could sense
the waiting knives
(originally published in Ginosko Literary Journal, Fall 2021)
you couldn’t sleep until three;
my consciousness abandoned you hours earlier.
and when your alarm chimed in the early morning,
you said I hate being up, and there was an ant searching
along the spine of your novel. we watched, for a moment,
before you crushed it with your thumb. crawling up the bedpost
was another. I should have told you, you said. I should have told you.
(originally published in The Broadkill Review, Summer 2021)
Dogsleep
my eyes been tired recently can’t sleep
though I seen how you wept fatigued
on the bathroom floor wet tile &
we went to your bed the dog followed
& pressed paw against belly then
sighed & snored in a rhythmic breathing
we tried to do the same
(originally published in The Virginia Normal, 2018)
Dream with Hurricane
Florida’s coast the horizon gunmetal
and the gales drive me into a house
where I ramble in garbled non sequiturs
about God highways marijuana to a cop
whose intent is to arrest me but he says
he does not have the authority yet
I say you’ll get there then after
the wreckage the cop works as a clerk
in the city’s only shelter I ask
if there’s room and he says not yet
(originally published in Hollow Tongue, Spring 2018)
Stranded
another night of insomnia
the crickets never sleep
endlessly yapping on &
on about the planes & trains
& flightless birds who wander
fields endlessly & there
is an island where
that’s all that happens
it’s 5 A.M.
& this bed is an island
(originally published in The Sunlight Press, 2018)
Alarm Clock
we woke from something beautiful (kissing
finally alone) only two hours of sleep when melodies
from the other room infiltrate our ears we wonder
where it is we want to take ourselves / where we can
believe in magic that isn’t ours / laying on a pull-out bed
with harsh spring coils like relying on the several bottles
we drank hours before to help us wake up honesty
(originally published in FORTH Magazine, Fall 2017)
Sleeping Alone
I spend most nights in the company of shadow,
a universe to toss and turn, mind wandering
in the smell of strawberry shampoo– my sheets,
familiar honey. I sleep in a crater growing deeper
without you. At night, birds are mostly silent.
The occasional siren punctuates air and I hope
you are all right, wherever you are. Without
your orbit, I wake at six and the room burns
me dry. There must be a medical reason for this:
the heart, when under sheets, overheats
but when alone becomes so cold, to sleep
too long is dangerous, and the temperature
drops to near the threshold of memory– my hair
mussed in darkness by my pillow’s imitation
of what your hands might do
if they were here, wanting to be held again.
(originally published in Freshwater Literary Journal, Spring 2017)
Magic
If you bought me a wizard hat,
I would learn magic
–to easily complete these blue pajamas
adorned with white stars, the soft and safe.
In the day we glimmer. At night–
let’s make sleep a spell, a slow
slip into lullaby, a cradle free
from disagreement, a glass of wine
to forget we inhaled the wind.
We almost floated
into the squeeze of dark. In bed
I watch cartoons in my head: Fantasia fireworks. Flames
that frame the bitter sky. Neon daisies in glowing eyes.
I dream hours researching the best tongue
to learn. The world may need a hero to
vanquish evil through fire, or ice, but all I want
is the kind of magic that keeps you warm at night,
far removed from my cold touch. The kind
where we whisper warm enchantments,
recite words which will not conjure ice.
(originally published in Switched-On Gutenberg, Summer 2016)