JULY MORNING, TOO EARLY
almost night still. Insomnia
is more with me than any
lover. I could be on some
lovely lake in a tent of
sleeplessness. Nothing like
a child’s cove of dreams:
blue stars and shining
things hanging. No, we’re
in separate dented boats.
Who knows how they
could hold us. Only the
cat’s breath touches
mine. I haven’t felt what
I want to feel, what I
shouldn’t. If I cold just
reach out to touch you.
If I just did