On a sofa with no sheets, under afghans with holes,
and still in my clothes from the day,
in that dark, I find the dream ways:
the graceful surrender to nothing and everything.
In another room, a nightmare cat jumps up on a counter top,
knocking something to the floor,
in rings of sound, like a pebble dropped into a puddle.
Waking, I have lost everything.
I walk into that room and see a bowl on the floor,
nothing more and nothing less than a fallen bowl,
and what is left of this fragile hunger.