Half sleep gathered me into
boughs of night where dreamscapes
of waterfalls and colored carnival lights
shined onto a blue wall.
Careless curtains beckon me to open the window
where stars resemble musical notes,
blinking out songs.
My room capsizes as water rushes in, circling
my ankles with winter cold, shining like mercury
spilled on a kitchen table.
I stirred roughly under my sheets, like a spoon
twisting in molasses and then opened my eyes.
Morning is a cold announcement
of crossing borders.
Roger Singer 