Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Gatha Parasomnia

"Reassuringly, the texts people send when asleep often make no sense."

The small cry
Of the dark
Of the night

Rimmed with light
Keeps me up.
In this state,

Neither poem
Nor a prayer,
The long dream

Of a fall
From the small

Of not quite
A planet,
Dim grey ice

In distant
Orbit lost
To the fire,

Home as light.

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