On a sofa with no sheets, under afghans with holes,

and still in my clothes from the day,

in that dark, I find the dream ways:

the graceful surrender to nothing and everything.

In another room, a nightmare cat jumps up on a counter top,

knocking something to the floor,

in rings of sound, like a pebble dropped into a puddle.

Waking, I have lost everything.

I walk into that room and see a bowl on the floor,

nothing more and nothing less than a fallen bowl,

and what is left of this fragile hunger.

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