that comes along at 3 a.m.
to wake me from the dreams
I’ve been living in.
An unwanted visitor
that doesn’t leave,
as I try to get rid of it,
push it away
with desperate hands
waving in the dark tranquility
of early morning.
A visitor here to teach me
all the ways we resist the world,
all the ways we wish we were elsewhere,
trying to control what’s not ours to control.
Desperately waving our hands around
as if that would do it.
As if,
as if what we want matters to the world.
One mosquito can ruin everything;
you can turn on all the flashlights,
stay up until 5,
but you won’t see it unless you do,
standing there on the edge of the wardrobe.
With a certain resolve:
“smack.”
Gone,
away with your worries,
and now you can return deep
into your dreams.
If only we could smash away the problems,
all that buzzes around in our heads,
all questions unanswered,
all that torments us deep into the night.
“Smack.”
Gone.
