Funny How (rough draft).

the night plays tricks on the heart
and shadows cast monsters against bedroom

walls, and even when you are old, sometimes
you pull the covers over your head and think, like

when we were children, “If I stay perfectly still
I will be safe.”
O if only we listened to the wise

child inside, but instead we go tilting at windmills,
and raging against the night, that trickster, like

the crow or moon that says one thing but means another.

and finally sleep comes, but not soon enough,
 not until we have said that which flies furiously from our lips,

and like the revealed side of a flipped coin,
determining our fate.

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