1807

I have burrowed under. It's warm here,
But dark. I have hoarded memories of light
And air, stacked them up against a bird
Who tells me the time by folding himself
Into sleep. Almost everybody has a family,
A group of friends, and a blank wall
If they're wise they keep behind them.
I don't close my eyes to tell you the story,
And still I can follow your breathing
To where your game of concentration
Has hidden the juggling rings. Come here.