I have not slept,
not since you told me,
wrapped in my arms,
my hand on your belly,
cradling something no one else could see.
what could, what could, what could be.
your soft even breath, warm on my arm-hair.
I will not sleep.
what could, did not, is not.
in the moment I drove stake home,
said, I am now a man,
and since have been stretching that to fit,
rough ragged ‘n translucent, can you hear the “rip”?
I do not sleep–
–close my eyes ‘n wait,
wait ‘n wait ‘n pray:
“dear, lord–“
run.
forget.
I have not slept in years.
