I awake from sensitive sleep. I’m out of tune to the bed-sheet; like magnet
against a magnet, not yet fully formed to be part of this new day.
My right hand is a cutout, a hole; in shape of a hand on the edge of
I attempt to grab for my duvet, but my hand sinks through it; as if softer.
Then, like warm sands engulfing cold, ancestral rock, my hand slowly returns to
me, as I watch it closely re-generate; appreciation of owner-ship is fulfilled,
and it proceeds to move by my own accord; to turn off the irritating alarm!