Poem #54

In the mind of Egyptian cotton…

You are a hospital blanket
swaddling a patient of your love.

Your love looks for wisdom
from the unconscious,
deep in the dark mornings.

What answers sleep said
in bed require aid

from melatonin
and a massage.

When the hours age
and the house seems silent,
the sheets begin
to speak, suspiciously.

O how sly
the nightmare
was to pass by

all the hearing ears had there.

His bad dreams sneak
into the holes between beams

of memory, of ideas, in the mind of Egyptian cotton,
until into a knot sheets twisted and spun.

You wrapped your cold thread
around your friend.

He finally woke when the terrors found an end
in the fur tails and teeth of wolves.


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