By J. A. Harris
Tonight listening to you falling asleep 900 miles away
I talk about the kitten’s cottony belly, his ruthless teeth,
not saying any of the other,
feeling the searing holes there below, here above
and I realize the oily undreamt dream I’ve been given;
I can soothe your weary heart with meaningless babble.
That is all I can give.
It is all I am given.
But I can feel your breath slowing, welling,
your eyes closing,
your arms then softening,
twitching as you drop away.
I remember as if I were there beside you not having to speak.
There in the quiet is the other dream;
the unspoken one that is all the barren holes.
You whisper “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
It is almost just enough to drift another one away;
to put that child to sleep forever.
Copyright 2014 Harris