The crossover to sleep is a
distance unmeasured. Awake is
sacrificed for a corner of quiet;
a temporary market until delivered
before voices without images and
shapes undergoing changes.
We toss our thoughts like the sheets
flowing over us; there’s an unwary
boldness rising into hero status.
Night watches us. Shadows follow the
twists we make, listening to
unintelligible words and answers
following without the evidence of
Morning is our release into reality as
we complete scribbled lists and
visit places we favor. Night is not far