I know that I’m crazy.
I woke up last night
three in the morning,
green light on the nightstand
my hand was outstretched toward the ceiling,
and I knew I was crazy.
I was reaching for a boy in the paint.
I knew he was there I could see him
not see him
not like you see
I don’t think you’ve seen like this
I could see him rippled through the carpet of his floor
he was playing dice or shooting marbles
something out of time from me
he was an imprint in the paint
I was on his ceiling and he on mine
but he was so young
a tight hat pressed his hair down over his forehead
he played alone,
and I was laying in bed
reaching out to him
wanting him desperately to know
wanting him desperately to look
wanting him desperately to see
me folding in on myself
overcome by what was there.
I woke up again,
folded over myself
reaching over the edge of the bed
reaching for the edge of the cliff
I was falling
falling along the soft sheets
sliding down into something
I knew not what
losing myself in the flashing of my
maybe I had been yelling,
it is always impossible to know.
light cutting across the room
too cold to move much
I’m blinking my eyes
as if it’s all a typical night
running from something after me
I know that I am crazy.