Wearing a sheet of varied colors like a serape. Over your head a plastic tarp to block out the wind
blowing you every which way nowhere to hide until the rising moon leaves
everyone is fast asleep in beds far from the stormy shoals of waters rising on the shore hidden in the reeds
making no noise no sound no groans no moans
staying alert while reasoning that you depart at first light like a moth that hides from the predators forgets that
we are here wrestling with somnambulance
put out by the family as a child for whatever reason which they had
caring for your baby hidden inside you leave a wisp of smoke from every breath alone shuddering in your coveralls.
there is nowhere for you to come in where you’re welcomed with warm embrace.
~ Randle Loeb ~