A Sudden Longing

It comes as a sort of longing

most often in the black hours

between three and five.

I’ll wake from a dream,

the only light, a sliver of street lamp, crimson

sneaking in, uninvited,

through the curtains’ gap.

*

In those whisper dark hours

between sleep and wakefulness, I cling to sleep.

For it’s always there that you open your arms,

persuasive, welcoming me

to forbidden landscapes.

Your shadowy aura burns low.

My vision pounds at first, then slows.

*

I come back to myself and

my husband and infant

tucked beside me,

their sleep-warm bodies

releasing synchronized snores.

*

I deduct quickly, too quickly, that

my mind has recollected

the dozenth upon hundredth time…

and I’ll jolt awake,

a dozen upon hundred times more

with a sort of sudden longing.

***

Submitted for the Things You Can't Say Out Loud Challenge.