by Gregory Anderson
Sleep cannot find me
Nor I him
So I lie on the edge of the bed
Like a piece of loose trim
Scuffed by the day’s slights and regrets
That a better man soon forgets.
I stare down forsaken hours
Tell myself my thinking’s clearer
Grasp at straws for shadow powers
Seek assurance in the mirror.
The shapelessness of the grainy night
Almost always wins the fight.
The blue sky is a sharp-edged sign
I smile crooked at the sun
After coffee I’ll feel fine . . . .
Now that brewing has begun
Sleep creeps up —
And fills my empty cup.