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exhaust
Our nights are filled with the eternal sisterhood.
a sorority of insomniacs whose only fashion
is the patterns worn into the floor
from pacing.
Between the coffee maker
and the window where the night air
is teasing with spindly drafts.
A cajoling melody of passing cars.
Fellow sleepless soldiers stumbling home,
stumbling on with their slumber-less lives.
Even when their eyes swim and tingle
making the nymphs of imagination become
real sirens luring them off the road
into a highway hypnosis of marigold cottages
with Sagittarius moon forests that know
years of hibernation.
Creaking floor boards begin call my name
beckoning me back to bed
where I will watch the ceiling tracing the
constellations with my finger.
