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Dawn
If I want to sleep, still
night; it could be
morning. I want to
peer into your dream-
raddled sleep. "O,"
my mouth round,
I want to enter your
dream, to be your air, be
your light glinting on
water, be light
on the white rocks
of your safe shore.
"O," my mouth open as
an egg, I cipher my-
self, but I want to hear
your sleep-muddled
voice speak my name
as you wake. "O," I
enter the air, reach
you turning, hear you
murmur, "Mmmm."
I glimpse water, solid
with light, white
rocks. Then you wake on
a dime. Small change if
we're to bodies
gone. "What is it? Is any-
thing wrong?" "O," I
say, "O," the kindest
truth I can think of, "O,
Nothing, nothing."
© 2004 Miriam N. Kotzin
"Dawn" was published in Open Wide, issue 11, July, 2004.
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