Friday, November 25, 2011

Days 4-7

The chills run down my spine
with steps so careful and unassuming, fleeing
the dome of my tired body
and tight-rope walking the strain in my chest,
clambering up my aching windpipe and
leaping and twirling out as breath
which says "I'm back, I'm back" and
with clumsy eagerness trips and sails
across the kitchen floor like little ships
and lands
at your awkward mess of bones,
your fragile frame of home in
which my bed lays, messed and empty
because you
are the patterns of my sleep.