Yawns widen the limits of tight-muscled night jaws
clenched against the confusion
of dreams peopled in unkempt memories
cascading out from their closets and storage bins.
Imagination has its way of turning chaos into light—
declaring the day good. You’re leery to trust
after years of promises broken
like the wine glass tipped off the table,
dangerous in its shards
eager to nip the soles of your feet.
Store your feet in the darkness of shoes.
Why should toes greet the light that spills
dreams out of God
and arranges them on the shelf—
private collectibles that whither
like a jumble of yesterday’s words?
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