Its silent now, clock clicks constant,
I slept all day, sick with this blathering bug
Throwing out my insides, sweating the sheets
Waking to sleep and sleeping slowly in surrender.
The ceiling is moving now, rowing over itself
And I reach to still the waves, but come up short.
How heavy an arm extended, like a knight shining
I can hear the joints crack, the tendons stretching.
The slow turning of night churns forth in sad,
Still sounds of a sleepy song; soft snore of dog,
Slow wheeze of summer leaves; the breeze on its knees,
Subtle serenade of crickets creaking out their chorus.
All of darkness collects in the room like party guests
Who, tired of drinking, have gathered on the veranda,
To study the stars under a half moon, and hope for a hand
In theirs, or a timeless kiss to come from near, or far.
We sit here staring at one another in the absoluteness
Of a night in wait – click, clock, click, clock…click.
Soon the guests will be chased home by the rising sun
And sounds will again wake the dreaming and the sick,