Sometimes moonlight falls across my pillow.
I’m sure it does this often, but
sometimes I don’t see it.
I lie on my stomach and squeeze my eyes shut and
think of dreams I know won’t happen but
I want them to. I don’t want them
to morph to memories behind my eyes,
reminding me why my dreams
But I can’t control the past
so I watch it all play out with horror
and feel my muscles tighten
and feel my stomach squeeze and my fists
clutch emptiness and I watch myself
touch and taste and feel it all
And I know that my dreams won’t happen.
I can’t risk it all happening
And only when I realize this,
only when the pain’s this great,
do I unsqueeze my eyes and stomach
and notice with surprise that
sometimes moonlight falls across my pillow.