My dreams, they sound like running

there is a certain fever, a sicker fervor

of second comings

One day soon, you see

the floodlight in the east

will drag me from this slumber

 

How long will my sheets hold

the imprints of my limbs?

I think these sheets have secrets

ones I mumble in my sleep

words that murmur out of earshot—

they like to linger

on my fingers

 

Maybe hands can decipher

the codes written into overtones, 

ghosts that vibrate in the voice box

maybe they know how to answer

the questions of my echoes, the meaning

lost to dream

 

Little listeners, members

of a body that speaks

its own language—I think

my body has a way of knowing

things my mind does not

 

my legs keep time

my eyes can’t lie

but my ribs, they will remember