A blanket is probably too warm and cuddly
Memories of the old plush bear, or the footed pajamas
I’ve got something to say to you
when life takes a breather
clear skies, brooding heart
the bruise I spy on my arm is low
and not a needle-dream
memory is not hallucination
hallucination is not memory
It’s all too solid, too respectable
that image I see in every mirror
Why peer out, eyes intent on mine?
I’m afraid to ask. My lips won’t form the words --
But don’t forget I’ve got something to say to you
when life takes a breather –
We are alive, aren’t we?
The air I breathe is as cold as morning fog
Ferns so wet we could drink them like iced mint juleps ---
our feelings soft like fuzz balls on a thrift-store cashmere sweater
I remember nights -- voices hushed behind closed doors
Crackling fires, warm rooms, pacifiers for lonely stretches of highway
Stretched out sleeping in the back seat
After looking at stars, Mars, clouds --
sleep my sweet
under sprigs of binky…