We’re up at 3am, again, I’m in my lead pj,
you dream blissed hang on to me, for life,
for my heartbeat, for my hotplate skin.
A hush from the wind lulls you back to sleep,
back to counting wind up sheep. I can’t help,
I can’t sleep. I rock you through the dark.
and this is what I see:
a grin of a golden Buddha, his left foot chipped,
a palm tree reaching out to applaud me,
TV screen with the jigsaw of your fingerprints,
a stray sock with a hole mocks the moon,
across the street a fox shows her cubs
how to survive in these concrete woods; I look up
at my name misspelled across the blackboard sky;