I think I'm sleeping, night long, more than I think,
And days blur like leaves in a pitch-long fall,
while clocks run on with numbers that always blink,
then flicker backwards. I close my eyes and sink
to dreams, then wake, sure I haven't slept at all.
But I think I'm sleeping, night long, more than I think.
By morning, hands and numbers settle, with a wink,
to normal, then digits seem to hit a wall,
though clocks run on with numbers that always blink.
My dreams run backwards ending at the brink
of the beginning. I wake to songs with backfall,
but I think I'm sleeping, night long, more than I think.
My age reverses in a mirror, shrinks
into a flutter of calendar dates to stop all
clocks that run their numbers in blinks.
I fall awake to sleep the hours that synch
with insomnia so I do not dream at all.
but still I'm sleeping all night long, I think,
while clocks run on with numbers that always blink.
Elfie and My Mug
Elfie sets down a shard
of my broken coffee mug,
her fingers sticky with glue.
Doesn’t fit here, she says.
Nothing does. A piece
is missing. I tell her not
to worry, but she wants
to set the universe
right again. I say, You
know about time. It doesn’t
rewind. She smiles. You’re
right. Even if I put it all
together again, the mug
would still be broken.
The Land II
Dreams of bells sift through
still grasses, wander past a fallen
gate and shards of roof tiles
half-buried in the broken
sod. A coven of crows gathers
along the bank of a brook,
dipping their beaks into dried
grass in search of a bone
to break into lightning, a snake
skin to charm into rivulets.
Empty faces, like paper masks,
float and waver against
the yellow sky. They drift
over and behind the blue
clouds, like phantom moons,
their lidless eyes staring.
Schools of minnows weave
their way through the faces,
through the solemn eyes,
pulling loose the threads
holding captive an old
dream in the fabric of the sky.
The crows step out lightly
onto the shine of the still brook,
their quivering reflections
mirroring a nearly forgotten
dance. They nod and bow,
turn and counter-turn, calling
to each other their dusty words
for scarlet, bronze, and green.