The Illusion of Presence

Hunkered down

blanket warms legs

purple from hugging metal.

The process becomes easier

when others are present.

Words shower

gallant balls of hail

from all sides.

I hold out in front of me

something better

that I did not create.

I want to be alone.

I don’t want to be alone.

Boots clamor

through the piles

in anticipation of

her wakefulness.

The routine is endless.

Early morning nightmare.

Rock. Sleep. Eyes open.

Rest, maybe later.

There are only a few hours left

to turn the pages back.

© 2013 d.c.p