a poem a day for a year #277

by Amy Turn Sharp


fell from the bed last night
bumped my head
saw stars
pushed my back up against
the white wall
while you slept
I like to watch you sleep
all of you
the bramble paths
the shiny seas
river bridges
desert shamanism
brick alleys
wild nights
they all pointed to this
small disheveled room
this place where
air moves in and out
of lungs
like a lullaby
like a soft song
inside of me