The Silent Dreamer
Dusk clings to the windows, its charcoal
belly rubs the glint off the glass and the long
tentacles smudge up the sky, planting
darkness in every corner of the house
in piles of shapeless grayish eggs that will
hatch during the night with cracks and squeaks
converging in a long rumble of her dream
in the shape of an eyeless snake smiling at
the dreamer’s silly fright.
Why must we know what is yet to come?
Now it’s the dusk to deal with, to
draw the curtains, turn on the lights
praying the titles of TV shows
and names of people to call
while the darkness builds its nest
minute by minute within the walls;
soon it’ll be too late to tell her
fright is but another dream, she’ll be
spinning spider webs of her own.