Thomas Kellar
SLEEP
I would sleep a lot better
knowing you weren’t out there
camouflaged in moonlight and indigo,
hiding among the redwoods
that encircle the house,
late night spying
though the bedroom window,
calling me from a cell phone
hanging up when I answer,
making the dogs disappear
one by one by one,
sending scissored newspaper type
pasted on white paper,
anonymous letters
filled with opaque messages
foreshadowing sex and death.
Yes, I would sleep more deeply
but would also miss you,
the sweet suffering you inflict,
the jolt of high-voltage fear
that nightly sears
my body and my dreams,
the sensuous smell
of burning uncertainty.
You are safe here.
I willingly survive
on French roast and catnaps,
a full eight hours
is not required.
***