engulf me as a wave,
and spray their mist
of warmth, as an elephant
washing himself. “Don’t leave us

to lay flat and still” as grandma’s
quill. It’s my cotton cave. And I
brave the day naked as a beach
in December. All I remember

is the burning sun. The day calls me
as my angry mother. I can't listen. My covers
glisten with last night's sweat. And I fret
if I move out of my cotton cave. I'll have lost

all their warmth. For I can't carry
them. They're an army of men. And I,
a bedbug nestled in as a morsel of chocolate
inside the cookie.