317/365 - 322/365

03.26.11
The room's only light
falls from four cactus blossoms
set in the corner.
•
03.27.11
He cries in the night—
somewhat inconsolable—
then sleeps in my arms.
•
03.28.11
Sleeping beside me
you breathe the night deep. Fully.
Despite my writing.
•
03.29.11
From the other room
I hear you talking softly
to yourself. Alone.
•
03.30.11
I've said this before:
the weight of sleep descending
follows swelling moon.
•
03.31.11
Dull throbbing headache.
Words, phrases begin to blur.
Shift out of focus.