Late Hours

Late hours

This head hangs low
as its eyes stare at the trunks
of  leg
All this rests on them
Later in the darkness of hours
they will pull this body
from bed with its sheets
creased into green on green
folds that mark this back
and the legs
Then to seek sips of water
to cool a mouth dried by breath
hotter than air that surrounds
a body uncovered by blankets
that lay pushed to the edges
kicked by dreams
of forests and holes so deep
they are unguarded
in the curves of roads
that scale the mountains
or jump to an apartment
looted by strangers
that wakes the sleeper
with screams of loss


Barry G. Wick