this mystery is like filling
a glass of water in the dark
holding a finger on the rim
listening to the pitch of empty space
disappearing and the cup growing heavy
waiting for the right moment to let go
and drink

it’s looking up between the clothes lines
through a tunnel of walls at one bit of sky
the roof replaced with stars
infinitely upwards into darkness that’s
still only a glimpse
framed by the inside
in the real direction of the night

it’s a heavy face fighting sleep
stretching night thin because the bed
feels bigger than it should
a yawn swallowing each quarter hour
time in turn swallowing each yawn
arms creep around the pillow
and sleep creeps over the arms