Nocturnal Dimensions of the Future

 

Once I drew a line around myself, dug my shape into a rich field

Some night fell in, bruising itself

The fresh dirt was a muscle stowing away years

It wasn’t dead, it just couldn’t sleep

I stuffed night’s hem into my mouth

Night also buttoned up when it couldn’t find a thing to adorn

When it couldn’t find a fly to swallow

If I keep my eyes quiet, if it mistakes me for blind

I dry heave fits of impure air

If I could retrieve that night from a dream

Its air wakes up amplifications inside my lungs

Shoveling scores the damage

When I wake back and forth for so long I can’t remember

Being left or not being left alone, I fall bed to bed to bed

If I could move toward it while moving away

Night kills what it shifts into; I pine for where I alight