Rest Up

Rest Up

Quilt, bed, and between, someone

hungry for sleep. Here is
a private world, perfect, compact,

speech bubble of an unseen being,

an angel. Last night, I
dreamed of the angel of death, she

is blonde, is young, crawls into

the bed of another woman,
a woman tight-faced with pain,

the angel of death holds

her feet, massages them, shhhh,
this is ok. The body chases

its rest, knows to stop moving

for hours so that the body
in bed becomes a floating island,

and all else, an emptiness so empty

it is soothing, this is the same
ocean that brought you here,

you visit it every day, bring all

that you are. An eye to the
peephole, an eye behind

the lid, a hole within the eye, flashes

of something peering out, body in
the sheets coming back to life.