Night
I cannot suck sleep out of the warm air,
a clothes runner killed before my bed,
numbers encode the darkness, they are not curved
and I reach for your hand, warm paper over chalk hills,
rivers that flow past sinews, tunnels leading to fingertips,
a map creased into your palm.
There are dragons over the main road, they have
moving eyes and heated wings, the night has locked
out gravity, I am full of feathers, falling up.
poem by Leslie Philibert
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
