This morning there’s dew on the window, on the grass and on the flowers.
I have so many horrible nightmares on so many nights.
What can’t be absorbed—spots of liquid across
Surfaces that might otherwise be porous.
Last night even the pills didn’t help, and this morning’s migraine—
Really just a continuation of last week’s and the one the week before—
Won’t be subdued by five ibuprofen and three Excedrin.
Maybe I take too many pills.
Maybe the problem is in the sleep
The night, all the stuff before the dew.
I’ve taken to sleeping with a light on and music playing.
I wake up when it stops & turn it back on.
Last night it was Helium, with Hole in the morning.
I’m looking for more peaceful band, if you have any suggestions.
This morning my phone bubbles over with texts & alarms.
This morning cherry blossoms overflow from the trees.
Yesterday sleep seeped out of me until I was face down on my desk
But this chilly morning I wake at 5 & outrun the frost.
It feels so incredible to be loved.
Sometimes I feel like I can’t be loved enough—that I
Could absorb it all like sugar in boiling water—or
That I want to be coated in the dew of it, supersaturated.
The other times, withdrawn & dumb
I’m more like a puddle of oil, sweating water.
This morning a woman—the same one I always see as she walks
To work, hair overflowing from a pony tail—waves me away
From a stunned cardinal sitting in the middle of the road.
It’s too late. The cardinal is already dead.
Photo By: Paul Aningat