I Dreamt, I Didn't

Kill the night.

It's late & I'm tired of sleepless replies to my idle curiosity.

The accords of men

& their fears. If I were a god

I would cradle the stars below Earth's waterline

—my hands collapsing into themselves.

Pulling apart constellations,

like the flesh of a stone fruit; counting sheep.

Eyeing myself thru the dimness of breathing,

nails forming into roots, into

the reach of the unknowing.

In the depths of caverns, I sleepwalk

backwards into myself. Wide-eyed

in a perpetual haze.

I digress, attempting to realign.

Unfurling in front of brethren & their ilk

who keep me up on the cusp of night.