DAY NINETY-EIGHT (2015-7-15)
MOON IN CANCER
Nighttime as the sting, the moment
of feeling the sheets beside me,
hand brushing the edge of yesterday
and the bundle of covers, pushed aside.
Summer mourns in sweaty, upset tears.
The place where you slept is taken
by the forms of books, today's shirt,
loose papers, the extra pillow, the cat.
They have assumed the shape of your absence.
In the middle of sleeping there is tightness in the chest,
a subvocalized moan in the clench of teeth, the fear
within dreaming that the ground is soft and feet drag
on their search for us. Toes kick futilely.
Even in dreaming, I'm running away.